


Glassbreaker - Superb Song of the Valkyries

by silverpower



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Senki Zesshou Symphogear
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14104653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverpower/pseuds/silverpower
Summary: Taylor Hebert never expected her mother's pendant to amount to anything - a vague promise of protection in her darkest hour. When she's trapped at Winslow by Noise, she calls on its power - and it delivers. But being a magical girl without an instruction manual in Earth-Bet is nobody's idea of a fun time...Worm AU/fusion with Symphogear. Set in 2011, one year after the Zwei Wing Incident.





	1. 1.1: Activation

January 3rd, 2011  
Brockton Bay, Massachusetts  
8:41AM

Not ten seconds into school, and I’m already having to pull a bully off some girl. Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

“What is your problem, anyway?” I snap, holding the bully by the ear.

“L-look, everyone does it, okay? It’s not like…” I pull harder on his ear. I’m seriously not in the mood for this shit.

I glance down, and my heart sinks. Madison Clements, resident butt-monkey of Winslow High School. Not again. I’m going to have to have a heart to heart with Sophia. And her flunkies - again.

“Oh, everyone does it? That’s your excuse? Pathetic. She’s paying you, isn’t she?” I growl as I pull even harder. I keep this up, I’ll injure him for real, but despite my reputation, I’m not willing to go that far. Usually.

“Well… yeah. Who doesn’t want an extra ten bucks?” the brat yells. I don’t know his name, and I don’t care. Some asshole transfer student who thinks he can climb the teenage drama social ladder by accepting money from Sophia or one of her… friends… to bully Madison. Or some other kid, but it’s usually Madison. I don’t know why, and I don’t care. I just do my best to stop it.

And if my best means I get detention again, so be it. Though with how useless the supposed “authority figures” are around here, it’s not that they would notice. Looking at me, everyone assumes I bully people anyway. And I do. It’s not even that hard. It just takes presence. The difference between me and him, is I bully bullies. Most of them get the hint after a while, but the Trio is persistent.

“You’re a piece of shit. Leave her alone, or you’ll regret it. You’re new, so you haven’t heard the rumors – the tall scary freak who terrorizes the bullies. They’re true, mostly.” I press up against him further, my knee ready to strike if he tries anything.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll leave her alone!” He looks panicked right now. I let go, clearing a path for him. I’ve said my piece, and if I see him pulling this shit again, I’ll keep my word.

“T-thanks, Taylor,” Madison says morosely, staring at her sneakers. “But you shouldn’t have done that. They’ll just come after me harder.”

I sigh in frustration. I really am too hotblooded for this, I guess.

I’m Taylor Hebert, a high-schooler who goes to Winslow High School because my disciplinary record is shit. Blame Sophia Hess, the charmed track star. My grades are fine, but they’re scared that I’ll be an unholy terror to… all three of the bullies at Arcadia.

I nod sadly. Fuck, I probably did screw up. “I figured it’d scare them off. He needs to know better.”

Madison frowns. “I guess.” She’s a nice girl. Kinda innocent, naïve, but that’s no excuse for how she’s treated. She just looks thoroughly defeated. I would be too, if I got the brunt of Sophia’s unwanted attention. I’d probably snap and hit her in public, but not before I cracked up. Maybe even triggered or something. I don’t know how she carries on despite all this shit. Maybe she doesn’t and something’s about to go really wrong.

“Hmm?” Madison looks quizzical. Oh. I’d zoned out for a second.

“Nothing, nothing. I’ll see you later, okay?” I tell her, smiling slightly for her benefit.

“Sure, I guess.” She walks off to her homeroom class. I curse to myself, then head to first period.

A few periods later, and I decide to see if she’s gotten into more trouble. I’m having a little trouble finding her – by now I know most of her hiding spots, and isn’t at any of them. Maybe she’s left for home to change clothes or something. It happens far too often for my liking – which is ‘at all’.

And then, I hear it, that fucking sound. The Endbringer sirens, meaning - Noise. Or Behemoth, unlikely as it is – but with my luck it’s those damned Noise creatures. I’ve seen them before – this isn’t the first time that Brockton Bay has seen a Noise nexus pop up.

We tend to get a little bit of warning before the Noise arrive in force, which is time I should use to put as much dense material as I can between me and them. The more they have to work to kill you, the less likely they’ll come after you – besides, they’re drawn to disharmony. Conflict. You know, people shooting at the fucking things, never mind that you need tinkertech to put the slightest dent in their glowy genocidal faces.

Already, everyone is running to the Endbringer shelter. There’s one in the sub-basement; enough to hold a few thousand people. I curse and decide to run. Sorry, Madison, but a baton and my righteous berserker rage won’t even make them notice before they turn me into a fluffy pile of ashes. I can’t avenge you if I’m dead. Putting word to deed, I start running – most everyone’s on the first floor now, trying to get down to the shelter level and hoping the Noise don’t notice them.

Not thirty seconds later, I’m assaulted by a horrific smell. Come to think of it, there was something weird-smelling around Madison’s locker, but she rarely bothers to keep anything important in there – a change of clothes, sometimes. Wait, this is definitely the hallway her locker’s in. It’s way more intense now – maybe something up and died in there, and…

“Heyyyyyyyy! Anybody?! anybody? …no…” Fucking hell. That sounds disturbingly like Madison.

I turn around and head straight for it. Damn, it reeks. “Madison?”

“taylor? somebody stuffed me in here with blood and bugs and uuuuugh… it’s really gross and ohmygodiwantout…”

There’s nobody here – that’s so typical. Where’s an authority figure when you actually need them? They’re probably all downstairs, shitting themselves in fear of being carbonized first if the Noise come in. Which is bad, because the locker’s jammed. I try her locker combination, but even though it feels like it should be unlatching, it’s not. Jiggling the lock, it feels like the door itself was somehow welded shut, or permanently jammed.

Contrary to popular belief, I usually don’t carry a knife (which won’t help here anyway). Or a breaker bar, or any other entry tools on me. Just a baton and pepper spray. You’d be surprised how many stupid Nazis forget about pepper spray, and I’m glad to teach them, but pepper spray isn’t going to open this lock. Frustrated, I kick it several times. The door bends, but doesn’t break – Winslow is old and cheap but no matter how many times they’ve repainted these pieces of crap to hide the rust, they're still made of steel.

I rush over to the janitor’s closet, hoping to find a tool. It’s locked, and I don’t have lockpicks or time to make some with paperclips. Heading back, I mull over my ever-shrinking options. I glance at the firefighter box, but they took the axes out a long time ago after some wannabe gangster tried his hand at horror clichés. I pull it open anyway, but all it has is the hose – and the hose is hopelessly cracked and useless, so forcing open the locker with water pressure won’t work. I finally arrive back at her locker, feeling utterly frustrated and useless.

The Endbringer sirens have been warbling for several minutes, now. I have no idea where the Noise are coming from – I could be walking dead already. There’s little time for me to act; no time for me to try again with finding tools. I’ve got to get her loose, but how? Even if I die, I’m going to get her out.

>>> LINGUISTIC NORM SET: ENGLISH <<<  
>>> INITIAL TRANSFORM LOCK CHECK: [STAGE 1 RELEASE] <<<  
>>> [PASSENGER] INTRUSION DETECTED: REPULSED <<<

...what? I hear a faint melody, but it’s gone as quickly as it arrived.

I pull on it again. The lock is spinning freely, but the locker door isn't budging. In fact, I might have made it worse by putting that dent in it. I can hear Madison freaking out, but there's nothing I can do without tools.

>>> [PASSENGER] INTRUSION DETECTED: REPULSED <<<  
>>> INITIAL TRANSFORM LOCK CHECK: [STAGE 2 RELEASE] <<<

What does that even mean? The melody’s back and gone again, this time a little louder – it sounds like something I’d play at one of my shows. My mom’s pendant feels warm, but I doubt a piece of jewelry is going to make any difference. The sirens are still wailing away, I haven’t seen any capes in here, I’m pretty much in the open as far as the Noise go, and I can’t. budge. this. stupid. door…!?

>>> PHONIC GAIN AMPLIFIER ENGAGED <<<  
>>> PHONIC LINK ESTABLISHED: POWER LEVEL ACCEPTABLE <<<  
>>> INITIAL TRANSFORM LOCK CHECK: [STAGE 3 RELEASE] <<<  
>>> COMPATIBILITY THRESHOLD REACHED: STAGE 0 <<<  
>>> RELEASING INITIAL TRANSFORM LOCK: FINAL <<<  
>>> SYMPHOGEAR pSG-m00: Shenshoujing ONLINE <<<

 _~~~rei shenshoujing rei tron~~~_  
_…wait. What!?_

My pendant starts glowing, and suddenly everything else seems to fall away. I can feel my music again, more insistently, as my clothes disappear. A form-fitting bodysuit covers me, and indigo-accented black armor slides into place. Some sort of mask slides over my eyes and face, bringing up a heads-up display. Just as quickly, the strangeness falls away, and I’m… taller? I step back, and with a screech of metal, my armor… boot… thing crushes part of the locker door. Not the one I’m trying to open, thankfully, but… I’m hovering.

I’m hovering! I’m a cape! Holy shit!

…that doesn’t fix my problem, though! I’ve got a neat set of armor, sure, but…

>>> [LIFE INTERACTION] SAFETY: ACTIVE <<<  
>>> [MIRROR BEAM ~ SHOOTING STAR]: INSUFFICIENT POWER <<<  
>>> [MELEE WEAPON ~ FLASH BLADE]: READY <<<  
>>> FLASH BLADE: NEURO-CONTROL FIRMWARE INSTALLED <<<

A bladed fan slides out of my right arm’s sleeve. Huh.

“Hey! Madison! I’ve got something to open this locker with! Keep back!” I yell at the locker.

“…o-okay.” I could hear her shifting, then she stopped. Good enough.

I jam the blade-fan into the gap between the door and the lock and pried. Thanks to whatever I have, it’s the work of a few seconds to create enough space for me to grab on. I pull on the door, and it rips away in my hands, revealing Madison and the horror show she’s been stuffed in. I pull her out, dried blood and cotton and vomit and *bugs* everywhere in the locker… and all over her. She looks like death warmed over, and I vow to end whoever did this to her if we survive this. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.

I don’t have time to clean her up, so I dismiss the fan-sword (…how did I know how to do that? What the hell do I **call** it?) and gather her up. For a teenage girl, she feels really light, like I’m barely carrying anything. Maybe this new power makes me much stronger than usual?

I could already hear that horrific squelching sound that the Noise made when they walked, and faint screams.

Not even the best Tinkertech armor holds up to Noise for long. This skin-tight magical girl getup I’m wearing? No, if one of them touches me… I’m dead. And then she’ll die. Fuck that, it’s time to flee. I can move faster, now… I just hope it’s enough.

I can already see the Noise walking up the third-floor stairs. It’s time to get out of here. I kick open one of the classroom doors and throw my back at the window, hoping that maybe this suit I’m wearing is tougher than it looks. The window shatters and we fall to the ground, landing softly in a hover. The Noise outside are already taking an interest in me, and I need to get out of here. I spot an opening in the crowd of Noise and begin boosting for it.

I make it through the gap, but some of them are already warping forward, and I feel something slap my back. Then a whole bunch of somethings. I pour on the speed, accelerating down one of the main streets, juking occasionally (hey, it works in video games, why not?) and hoping nothing else hits me.

Hits me?

Wait.

Wait. Shit.

Does that mean this armor has Noise resistance? I don’t really feel any different. It was like getting slapped on the back a bunch of times; nothing serious. I rounded the corner, hoping to find whatever the PRT’s kill zone is, and - shit - there’s one of those building-size Noise. The orange one that pukes out whatever carbon gel stuff that Noise are made of. Can I jump?

With a loud whump, my hoverboots answer the question as my suit flings us into the air, easily clearing a set of rowhouses and spraying snow everywhere. Madison shivers and twitches. Fuck, she’s cold, probably in shock. Wait, I’m just fine - this feels like nothing, and yet it’s the middle of winter.

 **No**. Don’t **think** about it. Sort your shit out later, Taylor.

But it means I don’t have a choice. I push more power into my boots, and we fly faster and faster, the occasional boost-juke to keep me on track for the hospital – forget about trying to find the front line. I need to get her to a hospital and hope somebody’s smart enough to be guarding the hospital with capes.

Several rockets fly past me and hit the Noise chasing me. I juke further out of the firing lane. Those better not be aimed at me! I can see the hospital now, and I’m running flat out, as far as I can tell. Bullets are already whizzing by me, and my suit’s HUD is displaying the PRT’s firing lines. At least, I hope that that’s the PRT; they’re one of the few groups that have truly effective anti-Noise weapons. Otherwise they’re more likely to get us killed than kill Noise.

After what feels like a few seconds but was probably a minute of avoiding incoming fire and Noise, I’m in the hospital’s parking lot. Five seconds later, I spin around, presenting my back to the ER’s sliding door and smash through it – no time to wait for it to open, and skate to a halt in the triage section.

Somehow, I’m holding my composure. And Madison. She stirs faintly.

One of the standby ER nurses looks at me, and the injured, bloody girl in my arms. “What’s her situation?” I set her down on one of the gurneys; hopefully they can help her.

I rack my brain for what she most likely has, then blurt out an answer. “Um. I’m guessing hypothermia, and possible infections from existing injuries. I pulled her out of a locker covered in blood and insects.”

The nurse swore and started pushing the gurney deeper into the ER. “We’ll take care of it! Get going!”

Okay, why does she think I can handle this? They’re Noise, not boneheads. You take these fuckers on, you die, unless you’ve got some really high-end Tinkertech. I catch a glimpse of my back in a nearby mirror. There’s… carbon on it. Carbon that I somehow know shouldn’t be there, and there’s smears of it on my exposed shoulders.

I’m… not just a cape, then.

I don’t know what Mom’s pendant is, but it’s obvious, right?

It’s Tinkertech, or something even more powerful.

And I survived...

>>> [NOISE] TERMINATION COUNT: 62 <<<

No way. That… that isn’t possible. I’m not sure how many Noise suicide hits your average anti-Noise armor can take, but I’m pretty sure it’s more like “five” at best. I survived sixty-two impacts and felt barely anything.

Well. Maybe she was a cold, distant bitch who couldn’t go five seconds without wearing that plastic fucking smile of hers or calculating how best to fuck you over. But whatever this thing is that Mom gave me, it works.

I stand there dumbly for a bit, then venture towards the entrance – and the Noise are launching themselves forward. More Noise are landing from elsewhere in the city, and as they impact the ground they start reforming from their bullet shape. It looks like they’ve finally decided we’re a better target.

>>> PHONIC GAIN AMP: SET [1.05X] <<<  
>>> FLASH BLADE: [BEAM FOCUS] READY <<<  
>>> FLASH WHIP: NEURO-CONTROL FIRMWARE INSTALLED <<<  
>>> SYSTEM SYNCHRONIZATION: NOMINAL <<<

My suit responds to the threat, and I feel two whips pop out of my arm sleeves. In the back of my mind, I understand how to control them, whipping two of the three Noise In their ugly faces while I deploy and smash my fan-blade into the center one. Time seems to slow down, and I whip several more, turning them into carbon. Even more are coming, though, and as I swing my fan-blade forward, the gem on top shifts. A purple beam – I almost swear it was **more** than purple – shoots out of the top of my fan and obliterates one of the medium-types. I need to keep them away, so I quickly shoot a few more.

I can do this. I can hold out here. I’m hearing gunfire - is that a minigun?! - and the sound of Noise dying – it sounds awful, but somehow it cheers me up. We can do this - if I can hold the entrance and let the rooftop team handle the ones that were coming… yeah. Yeah, we can hold the hospital!

My armor feels heavy, like I’m holding back somehow. Or it’s holding me back. But I’m seeing most of the Noise obliterated in a hail of gunfire as the fireteam upstairs steps up their pace, and the blue flashes of anti-Noise grenades are making them more vulnerable. Soon, only the orange building-sized Noise is standing, and their volume of fire is slacking off. Even with all the damage they’re doing to it, it’s just not going down, and I’m guessing they’ve already used their rockets on the few fliers I saw.

I’m so sick of that fucking thing! It’s chased me across Downtown just to ash me and Madison, and then slaughter a bunch of helpless patients and the equally helpless staff with all the Noise it barfs out. Fuck that! It has to **die** , and I silently hope that I can see that through.

I’m already feeling a little tired, but I pull on my power anyway. My hoverboots nearly droop to the ground, and it burns, like I just tried to run a marathon all at once, but the fan transforms. I point the shield in its direction, and **pushed hard** , my rage at the damned thing giving me the strength to push through the pain. A much more powerful, black-tinged violet beam shoots through the Noise, erasing it instantly. The fan promptly fold, and I try pulling on the power again – I had to be ready. But… It’s no use. There’s no Noise where I’m pointing, but as much as I want it to, the weapon just won’t ready. My whips also feel a bit limp... if there’s more Noise, I might not be able to do anything more. I’ll try my best, though.

I keep the fan-blade’s tip pointed at the damaged entrance area, scooting slowly forward. Distant gunfire slows down, then stops entirely. I keep my fan pointed outwards, ready to fry or at least hit any Noise that came through. Nothing. I think between me and the rooftop team engaging them from the roof, we’ve killed them all.

The sirens abruptly cut out, and the equally familiar all-clear tones sounded. If I listen really closely, I can hear cheering.

I’ve done my part. I can feel the armor wilting, like I’ve asked it for far too much, but I have to keep it on for now. I have no mask, and I know enough from Kat’s stories to know that you don’t go magical girl in this town without something to hide your face from “interested parties”.

I flee.

Several blocks away, passing through an alley, my armor blats a warning into my mind, then gives up entirely, and with a shimmering of light and a tinkling noise, I’m back in my normal clothes… fuck, it’s cold! I hiss and yank my jacket’s hood up, then pull my scarf out of my backpack and quickly tie it around my face. I’m vaguely surprised to still have it, but I hadn’t bothered to drop my backpack when I was trying to free Madison. I guess the armor just swaps the clothes with the armor, then swaps it back when I'm done. That’s good, at least.

It’s time to go home. I’m cold, I’m tired, hungry, I ache all over, and I’ve just survived an Endbringer attack.

…go me.

I shrug and keep walking. There should be a bus stop a couple blocks from here… that driver’s going to earn their hazard pay today, for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to fix up tenses, correct some grammar errors, fix a couple tonal errors, and flesh out a few scenes.


	2. 1.2: Activation

January 3rd, 2011  
Brockton Bay, MA  
7:21pm

I groan in pain and start pulling at the laces on my boots, flopping into my desk chair.

What a day. I want to find out how Madison’s doing, but between what Sophia’s boys did and then being exposed to the oh-so-wonderful winter weather while in flight? She’s probably in the ICU, in no condition to see me. I have no idea what to do… and I can’t ask my best friend.

 _Emma_ …

Shit. I don’t want to cry, but after all the shit I’ve been through today, and being reminded of her… yeah. I kick off my boots, flop on the bed and have a good cry for myself. I haven’t done that in weeks. Goddammit, I still miss her. And I’ll never know what happened to her! They never did find her body, just Alan’s and several ABB thugs. The police suspected kidnapping, but after a year, the case went cold. The cops are too outmatched here doing foot patrols… when they aren’t playing footsie with one of the other gangs. You know, the ABB, Empire, PRT, Merchants… those guys.

After a while, I dry my tears and sit back down at my desk to figure out what to do. I’m still way too keyed up to do any homework, but, well, the Noise came to Brockton Bay. I doubt even Arcadia is going to be opening any time this week. Winslow? I’ve seen Winslow already, riding the 342. There’s no way Winslow’s going to be open until they ship in a lot of portables, and that’s even assuming they reopen the building. Parents don’t like students studying in the ashes of their classmates, after all.

I could go to the warehouse, work on my car, but I don’t really have anything to do to it. I’m still waiting on that replacement crankshaft, after all. Mom’s idea of ‘sensible’ when she bought her station wagon for the family was a high-end Nissan Stagea, and that makes parts for it ridiculously expensive. I suppose I could put it back in, but from what my mechanic friend told me, they were surprised that it hadn’t walked out of the block years ago.

Sighing, I turn on my computer and start browsing PHO. At first, it seems to be the usual stuff – the Noise memorial, the new cape section, things like that. But then, a thread catches my eye. Holy fucking shit, that’s me! I frown, biting my lip, and read the thread closely. Apparently, somebody had filmed me boosting for dear life down 123 – I guess they’d gotten trapped in their building and couldn’t evacuate. They hadn’t identified me, fortunately, and even if they had, the last time somebody had gotten outed on PHO the offending post was removed in minutes, so only a few people would see it anyway.

It’s been a long time since I thought about what I’d do with powers. What little info I’ve dug up on PHO and the like, and the little that Kat and Rachel were willing to tell me, claims that if you get powers, you get them at the lowest point in your life, or something. And yet I lost my mom to a mixture of work and her weird personality disorder, and my best friend to a mysterious kidnapper. If that didn’t make me snap and get powers, what would? Was I starting to despair, when I was trying to pull my friend out of the locker? Or… is this something else?

It’s got to be something else. I don’t know how my powers work, but there’s no Tinkertech power armor I know of that can compact itself into a pendant. Mom gave that pendant to me when I was nine. She claimed it’d protect me, and I’d trusted her. Frankly, with how she started behaving afterwards? I’m surprised she wasn’t lying about it.

Regardless… I’m not a true cape. Somehow, whatever this pendant is, it gives me powered armor. Magical powered armor, I’m guessing from the theme.

…oh no.

No, it’s not powered armor. It can’t be powered armor. No powered armor design would rely on an energy shield for protection and mobility, that’d be stupid. The only really armored part of my costume is the headgear and the armored jet-boots.

I’m definitely not a cape.

This isn’t powered armor.

I’m… I’m a magical girl.

I’m a real magical girl!

So… I have a magical girl pendant. No talking animal to go along with it, just a borderline-sociopathic Tinker mom, who doesn’t talk to me, much less love me. Wonderful. Just wonderful. One thing’s for sure, I’m not asking her about it. She’s back in her lab at Langley and she’s not going to appreciate being disturbed.

Still, though! I’m an actual magical girl! It’s like a dream come true!

Now, what do I do with it?

Well… Brockton Bay has a Nazi problem. A huge Nazi problem. Empire 88’s the most visible crew, because they’ve got a powerful set of capes on their side, and most of them can fight the Noise safely. There’s smaller bonehead crews, but most of them are unpowered and the ones that do have capes don’t exactly have amazing ones.

What the Nazis benefit from is numbers. Sure, you can beat up a cab crew of boneheads with nothing more than a baseball bat and some rage. Can you take on all the crews in New England? Probably not. If you’re a cape, it’s even worse, because the kind of powersets that can take down hundreds of boneheads fortified by a few capes are the kind that get you the Birdcage for using them. Shockingly enough, multiple murder twos with parahuman power and spree killing enhancements tends to mean you’re going to spend a lifetime in prison. It’s what keeps the balance. I mean, it’s a really shitty ‘balance’, but it is a balance.

But, if I could break the Nazi capes (and aren’t I ambitious for a newbie Sailor Senshi knockoff), what does that mean? Well, they’re not the only gang running around. There’s the ABB, of course. It’s a strange gang, but Lung – the local and regional section leader - is very good about holding its disparate factions together. I’ll give him this – he tangled with Leviathan long enough for the military to fire its experimental particle rifle at the Endbringer. I mean, it had side effects, but hey, at least they killed Leviathan and stalled out the other two Endbringers.

I fought those ‘side effects’. I don’t want to know what’d happen if Leviathan were still destroying ports and rampaging across the oceans, but the Noise are awful enough. Behemoth hasn’t moved against humanity since that night, and the Simurgh object hasn’t shifted from its orbit either – the astronomers say that it’s ballistic. People have almost forgotten about their reign of terror.

From across the house, I hear the door open and then close. I get up and head downstairs. Dad was already halfway to the couch, clearly upset – but he brightens when he sees me. We met in the middle and he hugged me tightly, on the verge of tears.

“Oh thank god you’re safe... I tried to call you over and over but I couldn’t get through…” he tells me. Oh fuck, people might think I’m dead. I’ve seen enough names on today’s Noise memorial page on PHO to know that a lot of Winslow students had died when the Noise breached the shelter – and it was very likely I would’ve been one of them if I hadn’t used the pendant.

“I… of course I’m safe. I was… I hid from them. I… I…” I burst into tears. It’d been a long, shitty day. One of my friends was in the hospital, a bunch of people had died, a bunch more would’ve died if I hadn’t given them a more interesting target, and I was reminded about mom. So what if I’d fought back instead of running away? Being a hero is way more complicated than it sounds.

Dad sighs, holding me as my sobs trail off. “It’s okay. You’re safe, that’s all that matters.” He brightens up a bit. “You want to get takeout? I don’t think either of us is up for cooking.”

I wiped my tears. I’m still crying a bit, but at least I wasn’t sobbing. “Sure.”

A few minutes of negotiating later, and Dad starts calling our order in. Meanwhile, I feel my phone buzz. Hey, the network’s back! Twelve missed calls from Dad, a few texts from him too… two from Diana. Shit.

diana_jammer: u ok?  
diana_jammer: you’re on the missing persons page

Fuck, Dad wasn’t kidding.

synth_butch: i’m fine  
synth_butch: i’ll tell you about it tomorrow  
synth_butch: school’s closed for a while, let’s meet at the warehouse  
diana_jammer: thank fuck  
diana_jammer: hey, did you hear about the magical girl cape?  
synth_butch: let’s just say i know  
synth_butch: can’t say more  
diana_jammer: uh…  
diana_jammer: okay  
synth_butch: that’s why i want to meet  
diana_jammer: oh!  
diana_jammer: got it. ;)  
diana_jammer: we’ll talk later, k?  
synth_butch: of course

Dad looks at me, having finished ordering, an unspoken question on his face. Oh. “Diana. She’s worried about me.”

He nods. “She thought you were missing?”

“Yeah. It’s not like I stuck around… after…” I shake my head. “I got lucky. I left school early, and I found a place to hide when the sirens went off.”

Dad frowns but says nothing. Can he tell I’m lying? My dad’s oblivious, but definitely not stupid. “I’ll call the line, tell them you’re safe, after I go pick up the food,” he says finally.

“Okay.”

Dad takes off to pick up the order, and I’m alone. I decide to go down to the basement, and look through Mom’s stash of boxes that she’d never bothered to bring back to her lab. Mom gave me a pendant that she’d made herself - if she left any notes behind, they’d be in these boxes. After just a couple of minutes, I find a pile of notebooks and folders in one of her boxes, which I’d never looked through before. Most of them were in Japanese, but there was a set of notes on, if I’m understanding the front matter correctly, “Hosted Non-Mechanical Sacrist Fragment Amplification”. What the fuck does that mean?

Another notebook, dated mid-1998. “Notes Towards Mechanical Applications of the ‘Sakurai Theory’”. Nigh-impenetrable material, especially since it’s mostly written in Japanese, math, or highly technical English. Technical Japanese, to be precise; I can’t make heads or tails of the math or most of the kanji. I think this is from Mom’s dissertation notes - hers was some DARPA-MEST collaboration, highly classified. Not some spy-novel black project, just not the kind of thing that people are allowed to pass around for shits and giggles.

There. A sticky note atop a red briefing folder. “PROJECT PROPOSAL: HOSTED SACRIST FRAGMENT AMPLIFICATION SYSTEM ‘SYMPHOGEAR’”. The folder’s contents are entirely in Japanese, most of which is over my head, and highly classified, burn-before-reading shit at that. There’s a stamp on it - an approval stamp with… Kazanari family kanji. I think. Only reason I recognize it is because I sort of casually follow the idol circuit. Diana teases me about it a lot, but there’s no way I don’t recognize Tsubasa Kazanari’s family name - though the exact name on the stamp escapes me. I certainly have enough of her albums.

Fuck it. These haven’t been disturbed in years. If Mom cared, she’d have taken them with her. She’s not exactly the type to get sentimental anymore. I vaguely remembered that when my armor activated, one of its messages, or impressions, or whatever, was the name of the armor. It meant nothing to me at the time - what the fuck was a symphogear? Seeing the name on the notebook clinched it for me. I’m not sure what this Symphogear is, but these notes and files might just hold the key. An artificial magical girl armor? I vowed to decipher these files, but hell, it might just be full of Tinker bullshit, meaning it’ll be over my head.

I gather them up and bring them to my room. I could start going through them at my leisure, though these won’t exactly be easy reading. Whatever this is, this is what my Mom was working on throughout my childhood, and she’d given me the pendant just a few years ago. It could be tinkertech, or something else. I have a hunch that it’s ‘something else’, though.

Faintly, I hear the front door open and close again. I contemplate the folder for a few more seconds, then put it down on my bed and headed downstairs. Whatever my cool new pendant is, it makes me really hungry. I can always read this stuff later.


	3. 1.3: Activation

January 4th, 2011  
Brockton Bay, MA  
10:20AM

I watch the bus pull away from the stop. The warehouse my friends live and hang out in isn’t far from here, but I’m going to have to walk the rest of the way. Frowning, I reach into my top, pull out my pendant and hold it, my legs taking me to my home away from home on autopilot.

So this is my power - a cylindrical crystal that turns me into a magical girl that can kill Noise.

And I don’t understand it at all.

I don’t dare bring any of the folders with me, just some brief notes I made last night looking over the collection of Mom’s notes, so I have a few keywords to work with. But… I really need to talk to my friends about everything. I found them through a friend of Kat’s, I came out to them, I’m in a band with them, I do everything with them. They’re my friends, and they’ve supported me through so much.

Coming to them with my new problem is the only thing I can think of to do, especially if my darkest suspicion that this pendant of mine isn’t something I’m supposed to legally have is true. Walking into a PRT office and declaring my unregistered black-project tinkertech strikes me as an incredibly bad idea. If they take it from me, I’m just normal squishy Taylor with a little bit of streetfighting skills. They’d take me apart, and I haven’t stuck around this long to be undone by that kind of mistake.

Rachel doesn’t understand “nerd stuff” - cats are the only topic she truly, deeply understands - but maybe she’d have some insight into cape stuff. Diana’s really awesome, but she’s not much better with this stuff than I am. She’s a really great listener, though, and really cute… stopittaylor, I need her as my friend, not my crush, right now. Kat’s a Tinker, but their specialty is loud, fast things - they’re really proud of their scary-fast station wagon, but if anything goes wrong with my Symphogear power amplifier thingy (and figuring out *that* part of the notes was hard enough - what the fuck is “phonic gain”?), they can’t help. They work with really big stuff and my Symphogear is a small thing.

I can finally see the warehouse. My Stagea and Kat’s Mercury wagon are sitting on ramps outside the warehouse’s garage. Loud metal music is blaring out of a speaker stack, and Kat’s yanking hard on a cheater bar, cursing their car, the wrench, the music, the “fucking Merchants”, the cops. A nice long stream of profanity, that’s Kat. I walk by, and they abruptly stop. “Hey, Taylor!”

“Hey, Kat! Where’s Diana?” I hug them, and they return it, grinning.

Kat is the only name I know them by, or care to. They’re a demigirl redneck mechanic from East Kentucky who moved up here after a Noise attack, like a lot of ex-rural refugees. They’re a little shorter than me, keeps their hair close-cropped. Usually, they’re wearing goggles, basic jeans and t-shirts, with mechanic gloves and sometimes a mechanic’s apron or toolbelt, depending on what they’re working on. They’re in a relationship with Rachel, a butch-ish girl with cat ears who tends to borrow her partner’s clothes on the grounds that taking care of cats is almost as messy as Kat’s own work. She’s considered a so-called Case 53, though she finds that insulting, partly because she perfectly remembers her shitty childhood, thank you very much. She just prefers to not shift out of her semi-Changer form. There was a big legal case a few years back when she triggered - she won, with the help of an up-and-coming cape lawyer, but as a result neither of them like the PRT or the Protectorate very much.

“Diana? She’s on the couch, hanging out with Rachel. What’s up?” Kat lets go, looking for a rag to wipe their hands off with.

“Something big. The kind of big I can’t talk about in public. The kind of big deal like you, or Rach~” Kat’s eyes widen, and they hold up a finger.

Kat seems like they’re deliberating for a second, then they sigh. “Is this about girl stuff, or cape stuff? We don’t like talking about the latter very much.”

“The latter. Can we get inside? It’s to do with me.” I’m a little worried. Kat and Rachel really don’t like talking about “fucking cape shit”.

“Are you… shit. Fuck. Did you black out? Wake up with powers?”

“Not quite, but… look, I can’t show you in front of everybody.”

“Okay. Okay. You wouldn’t be asking if this shit weren’t fucking important. Anyone else you trust?”

“Diana, Rachel, that’s really about it, out of who’s around here.”

“You haven’t told your dad?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. Okay.” Kat ushers me through the warehouse door, then smacks the close button. “Go to the couch. Lemme clean up first, and then we can talk.”

After a couple minutes, I found the part of the warehouse walled off as a common relaxing area. Most of Kat’s housemates are off doing their thing, so the only one there is Diana, since Arcadia’s closed for the week. Rachel looks busy feeding her cats. I head over to Diana’s couch and flop down.

“Hey, Taylor~!” Diana’s already scooting over to give me a hug. “Glad to see you’re in one piece.”

“You know me, it’s hard to keep me down.”

Ah, Diana. Honestly, I’m a little jealous of her. She’s a short Latina girl, who shares my love of combat boots and underground style, though she leans more towards gothic style. Hers are those really cute Vonda boots with red laces, unlike my own basic black Docs with purple laces. She’s got black hair with a red dyed streak, brown eyes, black tanktop (and she looks amazing in it), cargo pants, a pentagram necklace, and - inexplicably - a red marble pendant with a gold cap and chain. No, not like mine - it’s from Lyrical Heart Nanoha, an Earth-Aleph anime that got picked up here. I’m pretty sure it’s not real, but I thought my Symphogear was just a charm pendant. Who even knows anymore?

“I bet.” In the background, I see Kat walk in. They rub foreheads with Rachel - it makes her feel better, and Rachel asks a quiet question. Kat answers and I can see Rachel briefly stiffen, then relax. Rachel lets Kat take her hand, and they both walk over to the recliners and sit down.

“Okay, you said you’re worried about something to do with cape shit. Is it gang stuff? Did you get powers? What’s going on?” Ah, Kat, blunt as usual.

“I… I don’t know. Have you ever heard of any cape that uses a crystal to focus their powers?”

“No? There’s a rumor that a Japanese cape has a Breaker state that lets her fight Noise with a sword, and another who fights with a weird oversize spear, while using a special crystal, but neither of them are registered with any sort of Sentai team, so good luck finding either of them. Maybe it’s secret zero team shit?”

“That… sounds pretty close to what I have, actually, but… not quite.”

“What is it? What do you have?” Diana asks, holding me close.

“I… it’s best to just *show* you.” I get up, gently unfolding myself from her.

I pull out my pendant, making sure everyone can see it.

“This… lets me become a cape. I think.”

I focus inward. Hopefully, the second activation will be easier than the first.

_~~~rei shenshoujing rei tron~~~_

It went a lot faster, this time, the armor flashing into place. I vaguely hear Rachel hissing, but the way this worked, I had to focus to establish the armor. It felt more instinctive, my first time.

I deploy the fan-blade and whips, and set the whips to their idle ready. I haven’t locked my visor shut - I want them to see it’s still me underneath.

Kat stares. Rachel’s already starting to relax, but Princess jumped into her lap while I was transforming, and she’s holding her as though she’s going to empower her cat.

Diana’s the first one to speak. “Holy fuck! You’re a magical girl! …uh… cape! I mean cape.”

I chuckle. “No, I think this is more ‘magical girl’ than ‘cape’. I’m not sure how it works, but the pendant gives me powers.”

Kat has a look on their face that suggests Tinker fugue. I’ve seen it before. “Stay with me, Kat. What the hell is this?”

Kat shakes their head, then mutters some unprintable curses. “That… I’m not sure what the fuck it is. Some sort of crystal that expands and covers you, but that doesn’t explain the bodysuit. I sort of get the feeling there’s more to your sailor moon costume than what you’re showing me, though.”

>>> [MIRROR BEAM ~ SHOOTING STAR] LOCKED - INSUFFICIENT POWER <<<  
>>> [MIRROR BEAM] FORM LOCKED - NO THREAT <<<

“You’re right, but I can’t access it. Not enough power, and I’m not sensing any threats. You could try attacking me, but if I don’t have the power, I don’t.” I frown.

Diana is utterly enthralled, seeing me wear Shenshoujing. Does she have a crush on me or something? No… she’s just really friendly. We’re just friends. I… ugh. It’s just a crush; I don’t know what love really is, yet. Kat is amused by the byplay, but I can see their weird fugue thing going in the back of their eyes. They’re enthralled by my armor for entirely different reasons.

Finally, Kat spoke. “There’d be no point. I’m guessing you’ll be able to do it eventually. Besides, I saw the video. Your exploit went viral late last night. At least your magical girl suit doesn’t show your face when you’ve got the visor down, anyway.”

“Yeah, it snapped down almost immediately, since I was about to be swarmed by Noise.” I shrug, jostling my whips slightly.

“That’s good. Thing is, the masking code…. You could get away with leaving it open. But not all villains respect that, and you know damn well that facial recognition software is a thing - Tinkertech and otherwise.” Kat sounds frustrated. They start walking around my suit, looking over it with a critical eye. “Did you know you’re wearing heels?”

That’s surprising. “Is that why I’m hovering? So I don’t actually have to try walking on them?”

“Probably, but I think the suit was designed to move quickly. This bit?” They rap their knuckles on the hoverboots. “That has to be an engine. From what I saw, it wasn’t the fastest thing out there, but…”

“But… I can tell that something’s holding me back. I’m not even close to full power. The suit is barely working as it is.” Diana’s fidgeting, and unconsciously she pulls her headphone jack out of her phone. I feel the power increase for a bit as Diana yelps and fumbles trying to plug her headphones back in her phone. Finally, she manages to do it, and the gain meter drops back to normal.

“What… the fuck.” I look at my gain meter again - now that I know what to look for, it’s obvious. No wonder it’d been flashing red during the last part of my fight yesterday. “Diana… the power increased while her phone was playing music out loud.”

Kat yelps. “That makes no sense! Fucking tinker bullshit! You get power from music?!”

I shrug. “I suppose so. And the activation phrase - I have to sing it. I’ve tried simply saying the words a few times, but it doesn’t do anything. Only singing the activation phrase works.”

Rachel speaks up for the first time. “Sing, then.”

I think for a few seconds. There’s a faint but persistent metronome in the back of my head, coming from my armor. What the hell, I’ll try it. I run through a scale, and the gain meter starts climbing. A few more scales and I can feel something lifting, changing. The armor’s systems feel more responsive, a weight I hadn’t even noticed when I’m wearing my Symphogear starts to lift. “It’s working!”

I launch into a familiar track - my cover of Assimilate by Skinny Puppy, which I’ve been practicing for weeks - and the gain meter starts climbing rapidly.

>>> PHONIC GAIN AMP: SET [1.5X] <<<  
>>> FLASH BLADE: [BEAM FOCUS] SET <<<  
>>> COMPATIBILITY THRESHOLD REACHED: STAGE 1 <<<  
>>> INTENT TRIGGER [X01]: RANGED SAFETY [OFF] <<<

“It’s WORKING! Oh wow!” My fan-blade shifts to beam mode, and I can feel it charge, quickly - too quickly! Wait, I can’t cancel it…?! “…oh shit!” I can feel the fan-blade’s beam forming, and whip it up at the skylight.

ZORCH! A bright purple beam shoots from the fan-blade’s emitter and pierces the skylight, obliterating part of it. I can feel molten glass and aluminum dripping onto me, and the girls are all yelling at once. I didn’t know Rachel could jump that far, much less land with that much poise! The beam dissipates, and I decide enough is enough for today. After checking to make sure that no more skylight bits are going to hit or drip onto us (this hurts, but not too badly), I dismiss the armor. The glass and metal disappears with the armor, along with the pain.

We all look at each other, face-palming.

Kat finally speaks, clearly irritated. “Taylor. I love you as a friend, and I care about you very much. With that said…” They take in the busted skylight, the look on Diana’s face, Rachel leaping down and beating out small flames on the rug with a fire blanket (not that it didn’t have a bunch of scorch marks and such to begin with), and my terrified blush. “My warehouse is not for fucking POWER TESTING!”

“I’m sorry!”

“…okay, okay, yeah, that was a bit harsh. You looked pretty shocked. I know you didn’t do it on purpose, but you’re a Blaster, as the PRT assholes call it. If we’re going to mess with this shit anymore, we’ve got to go to the Boneyard. You’re not putting any more holes in this warehouse that I didn’t ask for.” Kat looks annoyed, but not angry. “We good?”

“Yeah… yeah. I’m sorry about the skylight.”

“Alright.” They crack a smile, and they hug me. “You thought of a cape name, yet?”

I frown. “I think this thing is called a Symphogear - Shenshoujing. But that’s not a cape name.”

Diana calls out, smirking, “What about Glassbreaker?”

I sigh. “Oh my god. Maybe? I guess?”

Rachel speaks up, having finished putting out the much-abused rug. “Could be worse. They call me Queen, and my Kat, the Merchants call them Squealer. You could get a much worse cape name than Glassbreaker, believe me.”

“I’ll think of something. It’s not bad, just… I don’t know.” I frown, and sit back down on the couch. Diana snuggles up to me. Kat plops back into her favorite recliner.

“Hey. You’re a magical girl now. Couldn’t you just use your crystal’s name?” Diana asks after a while.

“Not really? It’s kinda hard to pronounce. The only reason I know how is because my Symphogear gave me those words.” I sigh, frustrated. “I don’t even get a cool, overwrought magical girl name.”

Rachel looks annoyed. “So what? You’re very lucky. You didn’t get the short end of the stick. I can empower cats. They can barely fight Noise. Most die. I lost seven yesterday. Doesn’t mean I can fight Noise. Only my Kat’s sonic cannon drones can do that.” She’s warming to the topic. “You killed Noise your first day. Over a hundred, like it was nothing. Most capes would kill for that kind of power.”

I make a frustrated noise. “I know. But I can’t even lean into my gimmick properly.”

“So what?” Rachel’s clearly done with the topic.

“Diana, help me out here!”

“Your gimmick is more ‘magical idol’ than traditional magical girl, hun. You get a stage persona and your name, and that’s it.” I feel Diana shrug and smile at me.

“Ugh… fine. Let’s drop it.” I sigh.

Kat coughs, and I look up at them. “One thing I just thought of - Tinkers, we like to keep notes. I have stacks of notebooks filled with nothing but vehicle designs.”

I blink. “Seriously? Your designs seem so ad-hoc.”

“My affinity. I don’t have access to the best tools or processes, either, so I tend to go with whatever I have lying around or can score in the salvage yards. I have a huge library of designs, so any time I need to create something, I already know how to do it. Writing it down helps me fix it in my mind. A lot of Tinkers are like this. A few I know got cyberjacks just for recording designs to their computers.”

“So why don’t you have one?”

Kat shrugs. “Haven’t had the time. Paper works fine for me, and I don’t exactly rake in the money. That drone contract last month brought in enough to keep the place running for a few more months, but being a Tinker, especially if you take any pride in it? It’s really expensive. Too expensive to go to Boston and stay in a hospital bed for two weeks while you recover from the implant job - especially since I’d want a drone-control rig, not just a simple DNI. Halberd-boy only has his because the Protectorate bought it for him.”

“Yeah…” The cybernetics revolution of 2002 is amazing and all, but even basic DNI rigs run tens of thousands of dollars. The actual materials aren’t too expensive - it’s just that the kinds of machines that can peel open your spine and rewire it with fiberoptics, and infiltrate a neural lace? Tinkertech. Expensive tinkertech. The program that synthesizes the viral RNA vectors for avoiding glial scar tissue and creating the bioluminescent interface nerves? Tinkertech, and she rents time on her synthesizer very dearly. I know all this because I’d looked into getting a DNI, even though I can’t afford thirty thousand dollars in upfront cash. Who can?

Gramme may have created something revolutionary, but fuck if anyone like me can afford the costs.

“Point is, who created your pendant? You said your mother gave it to you. Did she make it, or get it from another Tinker?” Kat leans forward, clearly excited. “If I could get ahold of their notes, I could tell you more.”

“No need. I have them. But…”

“Yes?”

I sigh. “They’re in Japanese. What isn’t in Japanese is calculus, boolean logic, advanced math I don’t even pretend to understand.”

“Technical Japanese? Huh. Co-author, maybe?”

“Yeah. Sakurai Ryuoko. I think.”

“That explains a few things, then.”

“Huh?”

Kat looks excited. “Sakurai’s one of us. A Tinker. She came out with this crazy pet theory on crystalline exotic matter back in ‘98, but if anyone could make crystalline Tinker bullshit armor? It’d be her!”

Ah, things are looking up! “Great, so how do I find her?”

Their face falls. “…you don’t. She’s a Sentai Tinker, one of those zero teams that nobody talks about openly. Black budget shit for the Self-Defense Force. Doesn’t give interviews anymore, doesn’t show off. Even her infamous theory paper is impossible to find. I’ve seen a few pages of it before, but it was all in Japanese, so I couldn’t follow it.”

“Then how do you know this?”

“Tinker rumor mill.”

I roll my eyes. “The Tinker rumor mill says a lot of things.”

Kat shrugs. “That’s true. We like to brag, and some of us like to inflate our rep.” They clap their hands. “Do you have her notes with you?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I didn’t think they’d be safe on the bus. Some of this shit’s real burn-before-reading material. I can read some of it, but I know just enough to not be totally lost when reading untranslated manga, things like that.” I’m such a nerd, but my mom and especially Aunt Ryoko used the language enough that I couldn’t help but pick it up.

“Okay. Let me finish putting the Merc’s engine back together, then we’ll go pick up your mom’s notes. If they’re what you say they are, we’re going to need to get them translated, and figure this shit out fast. If nothing else, Tinkertech tends to need maintenance - and yours is pretty powerful. It wouldn’t do for you to crack it and lose your Symphogear.” Kat has that look in their eye again - the kind that screams ‘tinker project mode’.

“Okay, sure.” Things are looking up, and frankly, I trust Kat to get this right. I need to explore my powers, and we need to figure out what I’m actually dealing with.

I’ll be fine!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like y'all are getting it early, buffer or no buffer. I'm hoping to become unstuck on 1.4, but that depends on my free time.


	4. 1.4: Activation

January 6th, 2011

Brockton Bay, MA

6:30PM

[Taylor]

I hate my new life sometimes.

Block, spin, parry, strike, blo- whack ow please stop block block swing-.

Rachel isn’t letting up. Apparently, back in the day, she’d picked up some self-defense training. Escrima, to be precise - stick fighting. A proper HEMA instructor might be better for this, but I’m not going into battle with a sword - no, I’m stuck with a bladed fan that looks vaguely like a cricket bat.

How the fuck does Kat find a _cricket bat_ of all things, in Brockton Bay, in three hours?

And now Rachel’s working me over with a wooden stick.

Why am I doing this? It’s pretty simple - I have no idea what I’m doing with anything larger than a baton. I need to train with something bigger, and closer to the size of the weapon. The ‘neuro-control firmware’ only gave me the basics - how to trigger the beam and shield modes and change it back to a standard fan.

Which is why I’m defending myself from a pseudo-catgirl cape who swings a mean staff, using a cricket bat. I’m two days in. I won’t quit, but this sucks.

(one day ago)

I look up, hearing Kat’s voice abruptly. “Hey, Taylor. Found you something.” A box lands near the couch, startling Diana awake from her spot on the couch. “Shit, didn’t mean to startle you, hon.”

I nod as we disentangle from each other. “’s fine. We were just chilling.” I glance at the box. Sports equipment? I pick it up, and find the label. “A cricket bat? Really?”

Kat smiles. This smile of theirs… it means trouble. “Rachel’s agreed to give you lessons.”

“At what? Playing some weird British game?”

They grin. “Fuuuuuck no. Rachel’s going to teach you how to fight with your fan, but with your ‘gear, you’d break her staff and then her. _You’re_ not going to break _my girlfriend_. So we’re doing this without your magical girl powers. We’ll use the cricket bat for now, until I can build you a proper trainer.”

I pull out my knife and free the bat from its packaging, then I hold it out and give it some experimental swings. Diana smiles at my antics but doesn’t say anything.

Kat’s got good instincts. This is very close to my weapon in shape and weight, though the balance is somewhat off.  After all, the lens fucks with balance some, and my fan-blade is almost impossibly light. Since I was able to rip a locker door off without much effort and carry a teenage girl in my arms, it’s probably just my enhanced strength instead of the fan-blade weighing nothing.

“I’m in.”

(present)

I hold out my hand. “I yield.”

Rachel looks me over with a critical eye, then glances at her watch. “Fine. We’re done for the day. You’re doing better than I expected.”

“…that’s… that’s good.” I find a towel and start mopping up the sweat.

“Once you’re done recovering, Kat’s going to take you to the Boneyard. Probably some races, and some beam practice. I hope you can still sing.” Rachel walks off.

I nod. Rachel tends to be blunt, direct, but I know she cares about me; she hates wasting time she could spend napping or taking care of her cats or hanging out with her sweetie. She must think I’m worth training.

I know that this training is going to be hard on me, but being able to actually fight with finesse will let me be an actual hero, not some power-drunk asshole with a magical powersuit. My first fight with the Noise was sheer luck. Next time the Noise come, I plan to show no mercy.

I head over to the fridge, grabbing a sports drink, then find the couch. Flopping down on it, I open the bottle and start drinking. It won’t do if I pass out at the Boneyard because I’m too tired to sing or sustain my Symphogear’s integrity.

In the background, I can hear Diana playing her guitar. I mean, it has to be her; she really loves playing as fast as she can, whether it sounds good or not. She’s pretty good when she’s not messing around for fun, though. I used to sample her failures for noise instruments in my synth. Admittedly, I haven’t had much time to really work on any of my song projects since I got my ‘gear.

Synth, huh? You know, I think that’d work way better as a cape name.

I decide to get up and find my gym bag. After a little digging, I get my clothes out and shower myself - this next part’s going to be less physically stressful but I feel gross and sticky, even though it’s still winter. I’ve been sparring with Rachel for a while, after all.

I’ve barely finished lacing my boots back up when Kat knocks on the bathroom door. “Taylor? You in there?”

“Yeah. I’m almost ready.” I stuff my toiletries and workout outfit into my bag and walk out.

They give me a thumbs up. “You still up for this? We could change it up.”

Kat and I negotiated my training schedule yesterday - I’m not going to back out. “No… I need the intensity for now. Give me a couple weeks before we back off on that. I need to master my Symphogear quickly and the only way to do that is train.” I shrug.

They nod, a little exasperated, I think. “It’s still annoying that your power doesn’t teach you everything you need to know.”

I laugh. “That’d be too easy. From what I’ve seen so far, the Symphogear only teaches me the intent triggers I need to use my ‘gear. Hell, I didn’t even know about them until I shot out the skylight.”

Kat facepalms at that. “Yeah, tinkertech isn’t intuitive. Besides, heroism is in the heart; it’s not about powers. You’d be surprised how many capes are cowards.”

We reach their Merc. “After you, Taylor.” I jump into the passenger seat, and they climb into the driver’s seat, already starting to latch their harness. I find the harness latch and begin latching the rest of the belts. After we’re strapped in, Kat slaps the engine start and it immediately fires up, the supercharger already beginning its whine as it builds boost. They pull out of the warehouse’s parking lot and we start heading towards the Boneyard. Subtle, Kat’s wagon isn’t.

While we’re on the way, Kat starts telling me about the walker they’re building. This isn’t their first by far, but they managed to get ahold of a turbojet and some gear-reduction parts. A… J85, whatever that is. Apparently it’s a really common turbojet, and Kat’s going to convert it for turboshaft operation and use it as their walker’s powerplant. I’ve seen their last walker project move before, and it was ponderously slow with little energy storage - which is bad when your main weapon is an anti-Noise sonic disintegrator. I personally think it’d be more practical to keep building up that monster truck of theirs; it’s ugly, sure, but you could mount a wall of disintegrators on the front and utterly wipe out Noise. But they’re the Tinker; I’m just their friend and front girl of our little industrial project.

We arrive at our usual spot in the Boneyard, and Kat parks the Merc in front of a broken container ship - the _Licorne_ , according to the fading letters. The hurricane a few years ago had pushed a lot of the blockaded ships into the Boneyard, so it’s not like there’s a shortage of broken ships for me to pump lasers into. I pull off my jacket and hand Kat my phone, then walk to the area we marked off yesterday.

_~~~rei shenshoujing rei tron~~~_

Kat smiles, puts on some background music using their wagon’s sound system, and starts designating targets on the ship’s hull for me to shoot. I ready my fan-blade - it’s time to start working on my beam accuracy.

* * *

About an hour later, Kat notices my phone buzzing and calls me over - I hope this is important.

madisonc: Hello, Taylor. This is Madison’s mother. I finally figured out how to open her phone and text you.

madisonc: She’s awake, and asking for you.

Ah, the magic of autocorrect. Okay, this is definitely important!

synth_butch: she’s still at memorial?

madisonc: Yes.

madisonc: Visiting hours won’t end for another two hours. Can you come?

I glance at Kat. “You remember the girl I told you about yesterday? Madison?”

Kat nods. “I do. Did something happen?”

“Yeah. She’s awake, and wants to see me. We’ve got a couple hours, but it sounds urgent.”

Kat’s already walking towards the wagon. “Okay, then. You’re doing pretty well with your targeting now, but you still need to work on keeping your shield steady when you’re using it to fire. Let’s go see your friend. Oh, and you’d better dismiss your armor.”

Sheepishly, I fly towards the road, then dismissed my Symphogear. Kat doesn’t like it when I track mud into their wagon, so I wait until they pull out onto the access road to get back in.

About thirty minutes later, we arrive at Brockton Bay Memorial. The front windows are still boarded up, and there’s a vaguely metallic ash smell from the dead Noise, never mind the scorch marks. The sliding door still works, no thanks to me. Madison’s mother meets me in the lobby, and we head upstairs to her room.

I walk in to find Madison, who’s wearing a head bandage and staring upwards, sheepishly. I reflectively glance up… whoa. There’s a hole in the ceiling, and much of the tile frame is destroyed. There’s a panel of plywood sitting atop of it on the floor above, and most of the ceiling tiles are missing. One of the fluorescents is flickering, the panel missing - oh, there it is, on the floor, spiderwebbed. Kat files in behind me, about to ask me a question or greet her or something, but they’re transfixed by the ceiling damage.

“…I’m glad to see you’re okay, Mads, but what happened to the ceiling?” I ask, still feeling a bit stunned.

She mumbles something.

I frown. “I didn’t catch that.”

In a small but slightly louder voice, she mumbles, “I did.”

“You’re… you’re…” I restrain myself from blurting out “like me”, which could be taken all sorts of ways, but the one that worries me the most is “a cape”.

“Yeah. …Thanks for saving me, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

Madison’s mom looked at me strangely. “Are you the girl Madison was telling me about?”

“Yeah, I am.”

She nods, and leads me outside of the room. “Did you know about the bullying?”

“Yes,” I tell her sadly. “I know.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Her eyes narrow, accusing me.

“I told the staff, but I don’t have any more credibility than she does. The one who goes after her the most, Sophia? Apparently somebody on the staff or the school board or something is covering for her, and I have no _fucking_ idea why.” This really pisses me off - does she think I didn’t try to fix it on my own? “So, no matter what, their so-called investigations never went anywhere, and she got picked on more. I can’t see everything. I can’t be everywhere, I can’t fight all of her battles for her, but if I see something happening, I step in. I did what I could. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.” This is really frustrating. I try and try and try, but it feels so pointless.

Her mom looks mollified. “Would you be willing to testify, if we get that far?”

“Yes, I absolutely can. I will.” I’m determined to see this through, no matter what.

She smiles at me, relieved. I can sort of tell she wants to ask about how Madison survived her close encounter with the Noise, but I guess they gave her the “so your daughter’s a parahuman” talk, because she nods and thanks me, then gestures us back into Madison’s room, where Kat’s already talking with her. If there’s anyone I can think of offhand who might help her wrap her head around this shit, it’s probably Kat. I join in, and just for now… I can set aside all this.

It’s good to see that I didn’t completely screw up my first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I promised at one point that I'd stick to Friday updates.
> 
> Then this chapter started being finicky. I don't want to cut straight to the action - not even Symphogear is all action all the time; the fluffy moments are just as important if not more so than the action. So it ended up being delayed until today.
> 
> Thanks to everyone at the Cauldron discord for helping flesh out my world and characters; the story is much better for it. (You don't want to know what it looked like beforehand. Trust me.)


	5. 1.d: Interlude - Second Division

November 8th, 2010  
[Undisclosed Location], Tokyo Metropolis, Japan  
1518hrs

[Kanade]

Awareness returned slowly for her.

The soft beeping of hospital monitors. The fresh not-smell of a perfectly clean room. The slight vibrations, as an air conditioner’s compressor started up.

Memory flashed through her - she had been fighting, hard, so very hard. Noise had forced their way into the arena, slaughtering everyone in their path. She had given them no quarter, but it tore at her. A flashback - she  _remembered_.

— it was so painful, and so beautiful —

Her sister in battle, her best friend, her everything… she fought so hard, so very hard, her sword stained almost black. Together they fought, Alongside her, dozens, hundreds fell, turning to dust, giving our fans the chance to escape this nightmare…

— that sword defines her —

There was someone there - the exit destroyed, the arena breaking down under the stress. No place can withstand the forces we tossed around, so casually. She fell with the seating, stunned. The Noise sensed easy prey and flew towards her. I interposed myself and my spear, my Gungnir already starting to break down under their assault.

— a spear is not a shield, but you chose this fight —

In the background, I saw missiles streaking into the arena, blue flashes forcing the Noise onto equal terms. Heroes landing, fighting alongside, driving back the Noise. I didn’t care, I couldn’t care about that. All that mattered was destroying the Noise in front of me, so they can’t hurt her. I told the girl to run. She tried to limp away, obviously in pain, as my armor started to shatter under the Noise’s unrelenting assault… and a stray fragment was blown into the girl’s chest.

— nobody goes this far just to give up ~ that’s just not you —

Everything ceased to matter - the Noise found the other heroes more interesting to kill. I threw the spear aside, practically flew to the girl’s side. I tried to cheer her up, told her to not give up on her life… and she stirs faintly, opening clouding eyes, wincing in pain.

— limits are something for you to bash aside —

I picked up my spear, so, so very certain I was going to die. Only the _zesshou_ had any chance of decisively ending this battle.

— if that kills you, so be it ~ you love others too much to let them die in your place —

I pointed it towards the sky, telling the world that I'd always wondered what it’d be like to sing with all of my heart, just giving it all away, whether I lived or died.

— if you’re damned to hell, you’re not letting anyone follow you —

And then… I broke.

The flashback retreated, but the last memory she had played out.

She’d broken, her Gungnir falling away, then shattering entirely. Her powers… gone. She cursed at herself, for forgetting to let Ryoko install the new converter upgrade, too eager to practice for the concert. She’d hoped it would’ve let her fight harder, be better, let Tsubasa worry about something more than fighting. The pendant in her hand, cracked, still, unresponsive. The backlash, that fiery pain, the blood everywhere. Tsubasa pulling her into her arms, demanding in her own way that she _stay **alive**_ …

— the universe won’t let you quit that easily —

And yet… she survived the impossible. It’d felt worse than the day she’d managed to activate Gungnir for the first time, singing through all that blood and vomit, but she’d survived.

It was time for her to open her eyes.

They were a little matted, dry. She blinked several times, then closed them tightly - so bright! - and cautiously reopening them, once, twice, a few more times, until she was used to seeing again.

Looking around, there appeared to be nobody there. She heard footsteps approach, and the door opened. A nurse walked in, and her partner stayed by the door in indecision. Kanade stared at her for the longest time, until the nurse announced that she was fine, I’ll go get her some water, go easy on her and oof…

Tsubasa was clinging to her, sobbing. She looked like she’d seen a ghost - like she didn’t believe that Kanade was awake. Like she would disappear, turn to dust any second.

She blinked, then smiled and rasped. “Hey, Tsubasa. I’m fine.”

That just made Tsubasa sob louder. She was a little shocked by this - her unflappable lover, brought to this? She couldn’t have been out that long… could she?

They stayed like this for a while, as Tsubasa shed all her tears. Eventually, Tsubasa pulled her into a sitting position and side-hugged her.

Tsubasa spoke, her voice choked with grief. “You’ve been out for over a year. It’s November 8th, now. 2010. I’ve had a long time to mourn you.”

She was shocked. An entire year?! No wonder! She’d missed her birthday, no, two of them!

She felt her own tears form, and pulled Tsubasa close.

 

* * *

 

November 22nd, 2010  
Mobile Disaster Relief Corps, 2nd Division HQ  
Tokyo Metropolis, Japan  
1002hrs

It was the part of the job Kanade hated the most - meetings. The Boss-man would talk and talk and talk, and so would Ryoko, and she’d just be incredibly bored most of the time.

She’d spent the time walking to the meeting chatting with Tsubasa, asking her questions, trying to catch up. Being not quite dead for over a year meant she’d missed a lot, after all.

The nice thing was, though, her Gungnir was easier to use than ever. She’d been pushed past her limits during the Zwei Wing incident, and the tech division had come up with an improved LiNKER formula and a change to her gear. Something about her amplification factor being too high?

Tsubasa selected her favorite chair, and Kanade joined her. Sakuya and Aoi were already there, binders and laptops scattered on the conference table, discussing some sort of obscure detail about Symphogears. Some of Ryoko’s tinker notebooks were mixed in, but no sign of the Head Researcher.

After a couple minutes, Ryoko walked in, grabbed one of her notebooks from the table, and pulled a flash drive from her lab coat. She inserted the flash drive, bringing up the first slide of her presentation. Boss-man soon walked in, and she groaned inwardly. Looks like she wasn’t getting out of this after all.

Ryoko led off. “I’ll try to be brief - I had a couple ideas that I really want to try out. First, our leading candidate for Ichaival has a compatibility rating of 48%. That’s pretty good for a first activation. Tsubasa’s is holding at 87%… which leads me to Kanade.”

She looked up. “Yeah?”

“Your compatibility rating’s up. Way up. 71%. Considering you were at 43% when you were, uh…” Ryoko squirms a bit. “Still active? That’s a great sign. You still need LiNKER, but you’re getting numbers that make me believe you won’t need as much of it.”

Kanade nodded. “It feels better, and the LiNKER feels less… like LiNKER?”

Ryoko smiled at that. “Yeah. Between my work and my colleague at the DSO, we’ve managed to make a new batch, and your tolerance of it is better than ever.”

Tsubasa smiled her beautiful little smile at Kanade. “I’m glad. We’ll be able to fight better than ever.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Kanade nodded to Ryoko, hoping she’d take the hint and keep the meeting going. The sooner the meeting ended, the sooner she could go make out with Tsubasa in the vending lounge, or help her with her motorcycle, or something.

Fortunately, Ryoko took the hint. “Anyway. Kanade, it seems I owe you an apology. I… don’t think your Gungnir was ever supposed to work.”

What?!

She continued. “You see, after analyzing the logs from your last battle, I discovered something - a new aspect of heretical technology. Symphogears amplify the power of relic fragments. The trouble is, your natural abilities are what helps the fragment manifest itself as a copy of the complete relic. We have many fragments of Tsubasa’s relic, but it’s the most selective relic by far. Not even her half-sister was able to activate it. But yours is much more compatible - or it would be, if we had enough of it. The fragment in your original gear was roughly 1:8000th of the relic. Tsubasa’s Symphogear has a fragment of 1:500. It seemed to work, but… clearly not. When we tried repairing your Symphogear, we failed at first. The fragment was simply too small to work with. Over the past several months, we figured out a procedure to grow relic fragments… with the help of my rival.” Ryoko sounded a little bitter about that last part.

Kanade was almost hopelessly confused. “So you can just grow more Symphogears?”

Ryoko raised a finger. “Only if I have a relic to work with! I have to have something to establish the form and the concepts it embodies to clone a relic. Then and only then can I grow it to the point where it can be used. So I re-grew your Gungnir, to the point where I have enough material to build several full-strength Gungnir ‘gears. So what that means for you is you don’t have to worry about your fragment amplification being a problem! It’s not a linear increase, there’s diminishing returns involved, but your Symphogear is now far more efficient!” At this, Ryoko seemed very, very smug.

She wasn’t expecting Kanade to bowl her over trying to give Ryoko a hug, that was for sure.

 

* * *

 

December 27th, 2010  
2nd Division HQ - Training Grounds  
Tokyo Metropolis, Japan  
1631hrs

A hard day’s training and a nice hot shower afterwards - sometimes the simple things were the best. It had felt good for Kanade to get back into the swing of things.

They’d both need to work hard. Kanade needed to get back into shape and practice her team attack with Tsubasa. They didn’t have a lot of time to do it, either. Both her and Tsubasa were going back to school in April, after all.

Tsubasa and Kanade finished dressing and walked out of the changing room. Kanade was still drying her hair with a towel, while Tsubasa had done the smart thing and brought a hair dryer. Boss-man Genjuro was waiting for them, grinning.

“Good work, you two.” Genjuro clapped his hands together. “I wish I could say I was astonished at your progress, Kanade, but you’ve never been afraid of getting stronger. Tsubasa, good work, as always. Keep this up and you’ll be your sword in no time.”

Kanade grinned at this, while Tsubasa looked curiously at Genjuro. “Thank you, sensei. But… I have to ask a question. I hope it is not too forward of me.”

Genjuro looked at her quizzically. “Ask away.”

Tsubasa said what we’d both been thinking for a while. “Why do we train by watching action movies and copying them?”

He laughed at this, clearly amused. “It works for me! I’m much stronger than I used to be, all in a year, so it’s clearly effective. Besides, it gets me into the right mindset. You have to train with passion, and visualize your goals - and action movies are excellent for this. Don’t think too hard about it, just go with it.”

Kanade hmm’ed at that. “So if we just drilled all day, that wouldn’t work as well?”

“Probably not. You’d be able to learn the basics, but unleashing yourself, your passion, and expressing that to the world? You can’t drill that! Yes, you practice your songs every chance you get, but ultimately you sing to express your passions. Drilling doesn’t accomplish nearly as much as doing. Don’t get me wrong, drilling is important. For some things, it’s even key to what you need to accomplish. But if you’re doing it without any passion, doing it for the sake of doing it, you’ll never succeed!” Genjuro was grinning by now.

Well, Kanade reflected, he clearly knew what he was doing. What would happen if somebody else, like Tsubasa’s creepy grand-dad, were to take up training her? Or a bunch of untrained amateurs in a warehouse? She doubted they could do any better.

 

* * *

 

January 4th, 2011  
2nd Division HQ - Incursion Monitoring Room  
Tokyo Metropolis, Japan  
0121hrs

[Ryoko]

“…take the second derivative of the third layer of the waveform, and… Ah! …No, no, not quite. Doesn’t quite fit the pattern. There has to be rules governing their behavior that aren’t observable… it’s an expression of their control signal but they have no control signal, they’re just there…” Ryoko was lost in thought, on the edge of a tinker fugue, staring at her console. Several MATLAB sessions were open, displaying waveforms and complex derivatives. Footage of Noise attacks was playing on one of her displays, as though Ryoko might find some method to whatever madness had created them by simply viewing them in action, over and over.

Genjuro stepped up behind her, and coughed politely to get her attention. She spun around, looking clearly exhausted. “…Oh, hey, boss.”

“Ryoko. Didn’t I tell you to get some rest?” He sounded worried. “The third shift operators can handle tracking incursions…”

Ryoko sighed. “No, that’s not it. I thought I’d found some sort of pattern in the Noise waveform - I think the Noise themselves act as command and control repeaters for their network, assuming my theory’s right about them being machines.” She yawned abruptly. “…That’s not good. Ugh, bluh. So tired. I lost the thread I was chasing. Sorry.”

At this, he smiled. “Ryoko. Get some rest. That’s an order. Go home, celebrate the new year properly. Giving yourself a Thinker headache when you’re this tired just isn’t going to help.”

She yawned again, and stretched, moving to get up. “Fine. Consider me called in for the next three days, because just taking off New Year’s didn’t cut it. I’m going to go have an agent drive me home, then I’m going to go spend time with my partner.”

Genjuro smiled at this. “Good. I was going to follow my own advice - paperwork never sleeps. But I saw you here and, well…”

“Of course.” Fucking tinker bullshit.

An alarm blatted.

One of the operators looked up. “We just got a spike! Incursion imminent, class six, North America, New England region! I’m re-tasking our waveform monitor satellite. We’ll have it localized soon.”

Ryoko dashed over to the console, sleep forgotten. Genjuro appeared by her side. “I thought you were going home!”

“This is important!” Class six attacks - even ones you couldn’t do anything about - were rare enough to pay attention to. Maybe this time, she’d discover the key to predicting the Noise from this. 

The operator zoomed in his map. “We have it localized. Brockton Bay, Massachusetts. Confirmed as class six, mostly ground units with several flyers.”

Ryoko wondered, idly, how her old friend’s daughter was doing. Didn’t they move to Boston? Probably. After Daniel divorced Annette, they wouldn’t have any real reason to stay, right?

Taylor Anne Hebert, you’d better not be getting yourself in trouble…

Several long minutes ticked by, the operator providing status reports. Ryoko stood up. “I’ll leave this in - WHAT?!”

There was another alarm. The alarm, specifically, for unknown relic activations.

“Unknown waveform spike! Attempting to triangulate!” Long seconds ticked by. “Again, a little stronger, near the large Noise concentration near Shelter 2-C! Inconclusive data!” A few more seconds, and a waveform appeared. “Sustained non-Noise waveform detected!”

Ryoko paled. That waveform looked far too familiar. It looked like the Symphogears, but not one she recognized. “Is that… an Aufwachen waveform?!” She started searching the database, frantically. “It’s not Gungnir… not Ichaival… not Ame no Habakiri… it’s not one of ours!”

A whisper of memory. Could she have…!? Annette had requested some notes from her, her final months as, well, herself.

She scanned for one entry in particular. A common relic, one that they had several examples of. Some were fully degraded, others yielded only a single fragment. She’d been meaning to clone and amplify them, but she’d had no time. Annette had taken the largest useful fragment with her during her last visit, back in 2008.

It fit. Perfectly. Annette… what did you do…?

She pushed the data to the operator console.

The operator barked, “We have confirmation! Unknown Symphogear activation! Code: …Shenshoujing?”

Genjuro stood straighter. “SHENSHOUJING!?”

On the screen, the dots represented the Noise started moving - a few disappearing as they seemed to merge with Shenshoujing’s signal, as it headed north.

Ryoko returned to Genjuro’s side. “I’ll be back,” she murmured. “And I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen.

This could wait. None of the other Symphogears could fly to the other side of the world, not in time. The real mystery would come later.

Once she was rested, she’d be able to do anything she put her mind to, even figuring out how somebody on the other side of the world had a Symphogear.

Walking to the elevator, she whispered, “Was this your plan, Annette?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought I'd try my hand at writing an Interlude and take a little break from the Brockton Bay part of the narrative. I really enjoyed writing this one, especially once I figured out how to make this flow well.
> 
> I feel a little better about this one. Maybe I'll write more of these as I come up with ideas - half the fun of Symphogear is the OVAs, after all.
> 
> I ended up shifting the flashback back to first-person after feedback. I wanted to experiment with it but it didn't work as well as I'd hoped.


	6. 1.5: Activation

February 18th, 2011  
38 miles from Brockton Bay, MA  
1:20PM

  
[Taylor]

  
All good things come to an end, I suppose.

My enforced vacation from school is almost over. Madison’s is already over; she’s going to Arcadia. I’m hoping to join her soon - when me and Dad went to register for online classes, I ended up waitlisted for Arcadia - a short waitlist, too. I’m actually surprised by that; I’m enough of a ‘delinquent’ by Winslow standards that Blackwell told me I couldn’t transfer every time I asked.

Neither of us are going back to Winslow.

It turns out that when the Noise left the building to pursue us, they collapsed some of the load-bearing pillars. The main building partly collapsed in the attack and was condemned, so Winslow is no more. On top of that, the majority of the staff and a third of the students died when the Noise breached the shelter. What’s left of the student body’s headed to different schools now - a lot are ending up at Clarendon or Immaculata, some of us tested into Arcadia, some are being sent to the old Brockton High out in the suburbs.

I sigh in frustration, drumming my fingers against the Doom Wagon’s door. It’s been a month, and I’m not making as much progress as I’d like with understanding the Symphogear. From what we’ve managed to piece together from the notes, it’s a power amplifier that runs off of the energy given by musical performances - ‘phonic gain’. This phonic gain completes the relic fragment that gives my armor its form and weapons. The key seems to be that the artifact that it contains is incomplete and is made complete by the phonic gain converter, using my body as a reference to complete the equation, somehow.

This creates the ‘Symphogear Form’ - the magical girl costume - and the ‘Armed Gear’ - the weapon. In my case, I have two related weapons - one is the fan-blade, which converts into a mirror shield. The other is some sort of mirror beam artillery. I can only manifest one at a time, but the artillery beam is something I’ve yet to figure out. I think it has something to do with my whips, but I can’t be sure.

Apparently there’s a way to activate Symphogears and relics without using a human to fill in the gaps. The notes on these ‘mechanical applications’ point out that each relic seems to have an underlying philosophy, a set of concepts, that underpin the relic. The mechanical stimulator described lets my Symphogear’s concepts be used without using the form, but the potential is much lower - the gain converter can only do so much with electricity, after all. There were also a lot of dire warnings and red ink added in 2000 imploring the reader to not attempt stimulating a complete relic using the described designs.

That was enough to get Kat to take a torch to the stimulator they’d been building.

For that matter… I’m not making much progress with my Symphogear. My technique’s improving by leaps and bounds, and I’m finding it easier and easier to fight Rachel. For that matter, I’m getting pretty good at using the fan-blade’s laser form, and I’m more able to sustain the shield’s laser. Kat was able to build a trainer after a few days, complete with a shield mode and a laser pointer rigged to what should be the beam emitter.

But from what I understand of the notes… the Symphogear unlocks its potential progressively, by the user training against harder and harder opponents. I’m starting to plateau, and that’s the reason why - as a rule, I don't hunt for a fight. Manton safeties aside, my Symphogear isn't designed for fighting baselines, and the last thing I'm going to do is go hobo-punching like a lot of wannabe heroes and vigilantes do.

I can’t wait for another Noise incursion. As amazing as the Symphogear is against them, they show up where people don’t want them to. I can’t go fast enough with my armor to respond to any out of town incursions outside of maybe Boston. So… that leaves Nazis. There are plenty of soldiers of the Empire that could use a stun beam to the face. It's not like it's going to hurt them that much. As long as I can sustain my Symphogear, I can go toe to toe with most of their capes.

I know that the Empire won't like any of this. But as long as their soldiers are alive they have no right to complain. They're Empire. They knew what they were signing up for when they became boot Nazis for a bunch of parahuman white nationalists. In any case, they maim people for their initiation. Their lieutenants are expected to kill a minority outright. They don't get any sympathy from me.

This may be my life now, but there's more to being a magical girl (so to speak) than moping about fighting humans and fighting evil monsters from the Nth dimension. That's why I'm riding with Kat today. Apparently they decided I'd earned a big chunk of their drone contract money. After Kat explained it, it made sense - I'd worked hard on it, but I thought they'd be spotting me a few hundred. Not almost thirty thousand! That’s more money than I’ve seen in my life.

Really, it was closer to fifty, but between the IRS and what they'd ordered for my Stagea wagon and my hero costume, I was down to twenty-nine thousand. We're coming back to Brockton Bay from Kat’s monthly trip to the Boston docks. We bought some gear at the Flea - Diana picked up a three-year-old SGI workstation, I got a TR-808 that looks to just need some love and sticker labels, and Kat picked up a rework station to replace one they’d torn apart for parts a week ago.

But the real haul is the new parts for my Stagea - Kat’s going to overhaul everything and add some performance parts - boost the engine size, put a daughterboard into the engine controller, and replace my twin turbos with a more advanced single turbo. Frankly, I’m touched. They’ve been wanting to really dig deeply into my wagon and make it a mini-Doom Wagon. I’m not letting them paint it in black primer, but everything else? Yes please.

I lean back in the seat. Kat looks at me knowingly. “Monologuing in your head again? It’s not like anyone can hear you.”

“Hah! Nobody’s listening to me ramble in my head about…” I gesture vaguely. “All that. It’s just… this is the first chance I’ve had to reflect. I’ve been running myself ragged with the Symphogear training, getting the Stagea torn down, helping with your walker project, testing into school… It’s a lot, when you stop and think about it.”

“Do you need a break?”

“From the training? We’ve already slowed down on it so I don’t hurt myself. I feel like I’m close to being ready to actually go out and fight Nazis.”

“Nazis?”

“Yeah, Nazis. You’re… okay with that, right?”

“Of course. They’re fucking scum. They go on and on about how they just want to protect us, make America great again, all that fucking garbage. But you can see it in their eyes - they’re disgusted with you. Like they’ve lowered themselves by talking to their would-be subjects. They say they’re about white pride but that’s a lie. They just wanna lash out against anybody who ain’t like them, just to make them feel better.” Kat sighs, drumming their fingers against the steering wheel.

“So that’s a yes?”

“That’s a ‘be careful’. Nazis don’t care about the masking code - if they can’t get you to join or brainwash you, they’ll kill you. You take on the Empire, you better not miss.”

I nod. “I’ll be careful. Thanks, mom.”

Kat smiles at this, amused, and a little wistful. “So… do you have your board set up for the show?”

Ah, yeah. We did promise to play a show at a venue one of Kat’s friends runs. Our project, “Automata”, is mostly a cover band that does female-vocal remixes and rearranges of other industrial and EBM projects. I’m working on my own tracks but that takes time… and I haven’t really been inspired lately. I just… feel so _held back_.

I smile and nod. “Yeah. I haven’t had time to play with my new drum machine but we need to fix it first.” I hold up my hand. “But if you disassemble it, there’ll be hell to pay. Real 808s aren’t normally this cheap.”

Kat laughs. “What am I going to do with a bunch of fucked-up transistors? Besides, I know it’s your holy grail, Taylor. And I don’t get fugues that often.”

“Just saying.”

“I’m not that bad, really. I hated that rework station anyway - fucking piece of garbage never worked right.”

“You did pick up a working one, right?”

“Yeah, of course I tested it. Why do you think I carried around that damn thermal probe in my bag?”

“Just saying.”

“Oh my god, Taylor!”

It’s so much fun to needle them about it. “Seriously, I get it. You wanted to build the igniter that night and you weren’t about to let anything stand in your way.”

“Rachel was drunk and all the hardware stores were closed.”

“Still.” I decide to change the subject. “I wonder how Madison’s doing?”

They shrug. “I haven’t heard of any movement capes running around, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Hm. Her last texts didn’t tell me anything good.”

It turns out that since the Noise trashed the building, most of the lockers were crushed. Any substantial evidence Madison had been shoved in the locker at all, beyond the security video, was destroyed in the process. That tends to happen when the third floor becomes the sub-basement. Then for good measure, that section caught on fire. It’s pretty obvious why they wrote off the building after that, especially given the fire trucks I’d seen at Winslow while coming home that day.

So… she has no case. Madison did get some of what she wanted - clearly somebody had done _something_ to her, and she’d reported being bullied repeatedly, but nothing had been done until now. From what I heard, if Blackwell hadn’t been turned to dust when the Noise breached the shelter, she’d be up on criminal charges - something about misuse of state and federal funds. So they paid her off, like the other fresh triggers.

Madison may have got something resembling justice, but the closure? That was a wet fart.

That sucks.

Kat decides to put a [new CD](https://youtu.be/KUOeibCly70) in, one we haven’t listened to yet.

 

* * *

 

“That’s the front subframe taken care of. Diana, do we have all the supension stuff?” I ask, watching her mumble and pull out parts from the shipment.

“Coilovers… lower control arms… bushings… yep, that’s the last of it.” Diana looks up from a crate labeled 「Suspension Components」. We’ve spent the past month repairing undercarriage rust and spraying on a new Tinkertech-derived undercoat. Unfortunately, the suspension was pretty far gone, so pretty much all of it ended up in Kat’s scrap bin while we waited for these crates to arrive.

—*—

The power dips out. Six hundred amps worth of three-phase service goes surprisingly fast with some of the shit we keep around here.

Needless to say, the next few minutes involve cursing, and a yelp from Rachel.

“Got it! I got it!” I hear Rachel yell, as a low rumble starts. The lights come back on, and soon after, the main service clicks back on.

It’s so nice to have a generator.

—*—

“I’m sure it’d work, but I don’t have your magic Tinker touch. Let’s just use the engine controller as is, okay?”

“…okay, okay. It’s your car.”

“Damn straight it is.”

—*—

“Oh, come on! It fits in the socket! How is it backwards?!”

—*—

“…fine, we’ll primer it. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry!”

—*—

“Rachel, tell Kat to go to bed already. Fuck.”

—*—

“That’s motor oil, not coffee.”

—*—

“What did you write inside the fender? …Diana… heart?… Tay?”

I never knew a girl could blush that red.

—*—

“Fuck!”

—*—

“Turn it off turn it off turn it off!”

—*—

Kat and I flop onto the couch, exhausted. Finally, we’re done with this build, and it only took us all weekend. The only thing left is to dial in the tune and order some Midnight Purple paint. I admit the black matte primer is growing on me, but I’m not the biggest fan.

Kat may not have built any Tinkertech into it, but it’s just like anything they’d build - loud, obnoxious, lots of presence. I’d discreetly slipped the silencer tips into the exhaust. There’s no sense in getting noise complaints from the cops - I’d rather save my criminal activity for “drifting” or “punching out some Empire bonehead”.

Diana’s still in the shower. She told me the fender thing was nothing. I told her to leave it alone, or at least finish it - she opted to finish it. I don’t know what to think anymore. One of these days maybe I’ll confess my crush to her.

When she’s ready to tell me, I’m sure she will. I could be overthinking it and it might be nothing… but I think something’s up. Kat’s been giving Diana and me odd looks lately.

Whatever. It’s not my place to pry.

We sit there for thirty minutes, watching the evening news. It’s depressing as usual, but the city’s pretty quiet today, parahuman-wise.

I look at Kat. “Hey. Can we take a shakedown ride?”

Kat gets up, smiling. “I thought you’d never ask.”

After a few minutes, we leave. Kat’s riding with me, while Diana and Rachel are behind us in the shop van. Kat’s got the laptop hooked up to the CONSULT port, so we’ll be able to get the tune up to snuff.

I ease out to the industrial loops, and decide to open up the throttle - the streets are empty, this late on a Sunday night. For a second, it hesitates, and I worry we’ve screwed up, and then… BOOST. There’s no other way to describe it - the power pushes us back into our seats. This is nothing like the Doom Wagon - when Kat opens the throttle, it surges ahead with a feeling of smooth inevitability. This is more like _thrust,_ like there's a rocket bolted on. It’s a little jittery at speed, but the suspension alignment’s pretty rough, so I expected as much. I see a concrete parking lot that’s still relatively smooth, and pull into it in second gear.

Time for the next test - I get some speed up, then pulse the clutch, swing the steering wheel hard to the left. I move to countersteer and - goddammit, I’m in a spin. I put a bit more steering input in and it stabilized, but… is that laughter?

Kat’s laughing their ass off. Goddammit.

A few more tries and I manage a proper drift.

Yes! “Fuck yes! I’ve still got it!” I yell, transitioning into spinning donuts. I do several, then decide we should probably head back. Tomorrow, we’ll get out the alignment machine and dial in the settings, but for a shakedown, the car’s performing just fine. Soon, I might even be able to take my mini-Doom Wagon to events or tracks around the region.

I don't get very far before the universe decides it wants to fuck with me tonight. I’m not sure why I should be surprised. My first sign something’s wrong is seeing somebody rollerblading past us as we drive by them. This is distinctly not the sort of area you’d rollerblade in, and they look a bit agitated.

Kat looks at them while I keep driving. “Is that… Jess?”

That might have been them, as a matter of fact. I'm about to comment, when out of nowhere a girl in a hoodie, wearing a scarf around her face, lands right in front of us. I'm about to hit the brakes, countersteer, do anything to avoid running her over. She makes the decision for me, leaping into the air, arcing over my Stagea, clearly in pursuit of the rollerblader who might be Jess.

“What.” Kat seems at a loss.

I don't respond, aiming for the nearby alley. Fortunately, it's relatively wide, letting me swing into it, then roll down a little ways. I stop the car, leaving it running, then get out. In one smooth motion, I pull out my Symphogear.

“Kat, take my car. If that's Jess, I need to go bail them out.” I tell them, already running back the way we came.

_~ “rei shenshoujing rei tron…” ~_

As the now-familiar weight of my Symphogear starts to form around me, I jump into the air. Before I land, my armor flashes into being, and I boost, a song already on my lips. Behind me, I can hear my Stagea driving away.

I boost for the hoodie girl. I need to sort this out before anyone gets hurt. Ahead of me, I hear an explosion, and fly towards it.

Time to see if I can be a hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So this chapter was like pulling teeth. A lot of the time was spent trying to nail down other parts of the story, now that I've got a beta (Thanks, TheWonko!). I apologize for it taking so long, but college is kicking my ass at the moment.


	7. 1.6: Activation

February 20, 2011  
8:13pm  
Brockton Bay, MA

[Taylor]

I’m going flat out, singing for all I’m worth. It doesn’t take long for me to find the source of the explosion. The hoodie girl ended up chasing the rollerblader into an abandoned parking lot, and now she’s using her power to blast craters into the asphalt when they try to leave. I stop singing; I’ve got enough gain to fight for a little bit, and I can always start again if hoodie girl goes after me instead.

Oh fuck. That _is_ Jess on those rollerskates. Shit. I have no idea if the hoodie girl is a hero, villain, rogue, whatever. I don’t recognize the powerset at first, then my heart sinks a bit. Madison, that had better not be you…

I think Jess is losing. They’re throwing fireballs, and holy FUCK I’m glad I have the visor because the flash-comp just kicked in. They flashbanged the hoodie girl! Nice. She's stunned, walking around slowly with her hands over her ears, trying to find Jess.

“YOU BITCH! WHERE ARE YOU!?” she yells.

Fuck, that's Madison! She’s _pissed_. I fly in, intending to confront her, when she hears my engines and rockets towards OH SHIT

She’s tackled me, her arms locked around my waist, and I’m flying. Like, really flying. Madison’s hanging on for dear life, and as much as I try to flare my boots and get out of it, I’m not doing much more than move our trajectory slightly. Which is really fucking bad, because the ground’s coming up so fast…

Pain. My back slams onto the ground and my Symphogear is buffeted by an explosion, like I held a block of C4 to my chest. It’s a testament to this armor that it just stuns me. The pain is already fading, and I’m grabbing onto her, ready to punch her. (stop that Taylor! chill out!) She looks up at me from her hold on my torso, and squeaks. I drop my fist, then push her off of me gently, bringing myself back up to my full height.

She takes a pose, raising her fists warily, but her stance is all off. I can see Jess running, their rollerblades held in their hands.

Fuck it. She saw me in the armor already. Unless Madison is completely and utterly stupid, she knows that the mysterious magical girl who saved her is Taylor Hebert, teenage delinquent. I release the visor, but don’t dismiss the armor. I wouldn’t put it past her to attack me again.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing?” I ask her, annoyed.

Madison paled, and then in a shaky voice, said “I… I… I’m a hero! I was pursuing a thief!”

“Does that mean _blow them up_? What did they steal, anyway?”

“She… he… she? She did a smash and grab! Stole a briefcase!”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

“Because stealing is wrong!”

“Assault with a parahuman power and battery aren’t wrong, then, either? What about destruction of property? I hate to admit it, but somebody owns this useless lot of asphalt. Well, it’s even more useless now that you’ve blown several holes in it, including the level ramp, and the guardhouse gate. Some people care about that shit, Mads.”

“It’s Skipper!”

“Skipper? That’s your cape name?” I’m about to mock her for it, but… actually, it’s a really good name. And her weird brunette-Barbie aesthetic when she actually bothers to dress up… kinda matches. “Huh. Not bad.”

“Thanks. But…” She draws herself up, some of her old indignation returning. “She was stealing!”

“They, Skipper, they. I know them by name, and I know Circus uses singular they when they’re not wearing a watch.”

“Oh, they. But, they smashed up an expensive car to get the briefcase!”

“Again, why is that a problem? Why is that _your_  problem?” Who fucking cares if Circus steals themselves rent money?! If you’re not getting the drip-feed from the Protectorate, you have to pay rent to some asshole, and even if you squat, you still have to pay for power, your cell phone, all kinds of shit. Being a cape who doesn’t steal doesn’t pay.

Oh god, this girl is in way, way, way over her head. At least I had Kat and Rachel to explain all this stuff to me along the way - she’s got nobody to help her with this shit. At this rate she’ll get conscripted or killed when she pisses off an actual group. Between me and Kat, maybe we can intervene before that happens.

“I can’t believe you, Ta-! Ugh! What’s your name? Do you actually _have_ one yet?” She’s seething! It’s kinda cute, actually.

“Synth. My cape name is Synth.” I sigh internally. “Look, the Protectorate, or at least the PRT, are going to be here any minute. You didn’t actually collar Circus, and thank fuck for that, but you did fuck up a parking lot. They don’t like that shit. We can talk elsewhere, or I can drop you off somewhere safer.”

“I…” She glances around, taking in the parking lot - the craters, the smashed guard shack, the damaged fences, the knocked-over light poles… Madison abruptly starts laughing, a sort of hollow, anxiety-laden laugh. Shit, she’s having a panic attack. She must’ve been on a knife edge. “Oh _shit_. Oh, god. Shit! I’m screwed. I’m so fucked! Why did I do this?”

“We can blame people later. We need to move right now.”

“Where?”

I point at another parking lot. I close my visor, and use its zoom function to check it out. The Stagea’s there, and Diana’s helping Circus into the van. Kat’s already walking back to my car.

“Okay. I can get there. I don’t have to explode, after all.”

“Alright. Find a spot that’s hidden. I’ll meet you there.” I boost for it, and Madi- _Skipper_ launches herself into the air. The system’s already calculating her trajectory… and she made a perfect landing, under cover of darkness.

I guess she can be sensible when she wants to be.

I boost over to her, then dismiss the armor, taking out my cell phone.

synth_butch: hey  
synth_butch: we need a pickup  
burnout44: k  
burnout44: i see you two

The Stagea starts up and rolls towards us. I walk over and get into the passenger seat, and Madison gets into the back seat, looking forlorn and anxious.

“Why did you bring her with you?” Kat asks, easing my car out onto the loop.

“I needed to talk to her?” I said.

“Shit, hang on.” Kat pulls out their phone and texts somebody. “There. Rachel knows to hurry home now.”

Madison’s looking at us, wondering what we’re going to do to her.

“You’re not in trouble. Much trouble, anyway. Taylor wants to talk to you. I want to talk to you, for that matter. You’re the one who attacked Circus, right?”

“That’s their name? The skating jester?”

“Yep.” Kat said, popping the P. “Why did you do that?”

“They were stealing a briefcase from a Mercedes.” Madison frowns. “It looked pretty expensive - the briefcase and the car.”

“Okay, and why is that your problem?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

I have to laugh at this. “Oh, you sweet summer child.”

Kat isn't amused. “Because it doesn't matter. Because worrying about that shit is for cops. You're. Not. A. Cop. And thank Christ for that.”

“But… stealing is wrong!”

“Stealing is a crime.”

“That's what I said!”

“No, there's a difference. The law and what's right are two different things.” Kat's clearly warming to the topic. “Sometimes they're aligned. Sometimes there's grey areas. Sometimes they're opposed. The two things aren't very related, you see?”

“Um.”

“So what's more wrong - a vulnerable person on the streets, or survival theft?”

“Them… being on the streets? I think?”

“So there are greater evils and lesser evils.”

“…Yeah, I suppose. So they’re on the streets? How come? I thought crime was supposed to pay.” Madison’s looking a little shaky, but I’m not sure if it’s her anxiety or a movement compulsion - or both?

“Because their landlord sold the building, then the new owner kicked them out for being a ‘godless satanic deviant’. Because work is hard to find in this shithole of a city, even if you are a cape. And not all capes trust the Protectorate, nor should they. If you're not one of them and you're not a Tinker, or have corporate or team backing? Our response as a society is ‘tough luck, do crimes then, also fuck off and die’. That isn’t the foundation for any sort of trust, that’s a gun to your head.”

“I… shit. I want to be a hero, but…”

“That’s not so easy, is it?”

“No… not really. I just wanted to do the right thing.”

“The right thing… that’s for you to determine. And that’s another thing. How much do you know about capes?”

“Powers through trauma… I got that much,” she says wryly.

I speak up. “Kat.”

“What is it?”

“You mind if we take a loop on the highway?” Madison seems to relax a bit more at this.

“Uh… oh. Oh! Sure, sure, we can do that.” Kat slews the wagon onto 123 and heads for the interstate, doing a couple of pulls on the way.

“Where are you taking me?” Madison asks.

I tell her the truth. “Nowhere.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Look, we can turn around and go wherever you need. Home, my hangout place, Fugly Bob’s, whatever. But… you have movement powers, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been using them?”

“Uh… never? Not until tonight - and when I did the power testing for the Wards, but they didn’t exactly have room for me to do much. I got to test my explosions way more than my movement.”

Kat sighs. “Shit. They didn’t warn you?”

“About what?”

“You have to use your powers, or… you get compulsions. On some level, I have to tinker with stuff, especially if it relates to my affinity. Rachel has to bond to cats. And I suspect you’ve got to move… Powers really mess with you on some deep level. I don’t know why; people have been studying this shit for years.”

“What about Taylor?”

“Nope, nothing like that.” I said. It’s the truth. All my friends who know about my cape status have been watching me for use compulsions. From what I can tell… I’m lucky, I don’t have to worry about them.

Madison frowns at that. “So I have to skip. Fuck. This is nothing like the movies.”

We start laughing at that, and Madison joins in after a bit.

Once I calm down, I remember what we were originally talking about. “Anyway. All this is telling me that you don’t know much of anything about the cape scene. Right?”

Madison stares. “There’s a scene?”

Kat says, “More like a bunch of gangs, and then some independent teams, and finally, independent capes.”

“Oh. What gangs?”

I nod to Kat, and they elaborate. “Well, there’s the big four. ABB - the Asian Bad Boyz. Pretty much a Yakuza branch with looser recruiting requirements. Their leader is their heavy hitter, Lung. Don’t mess with him. Seriously, don’t. For that matter, don’t stir up shit with the ABB if you can help it; it never ends well.” They take a breath and continue, tapping their fingers on the steering wheel. “Then, you’ve got the Archer Bridge Merchants. Bunch of fucking losers. They could be something, but they’re usually too fucked up on their own shit to do anything with their capes. Next, the PRT.”

Now Mads looks confused. “How are they a gang?”

“From your perspective, they’re the government capes, but really, they control both the adult and the kid teams they run. As for why I’m counting them as a gang, it’s because they hold territory and wear colors. The fact that they’re state-backed is a minor detail. But, they’re like super-cops; mostly useless unless they want to fuck up your life. If they haven't press-ganged you into the Wards yet, they’ll do their best to now.”

“Fucking figures.” She’s scowling now. I suspect she’s got a grudge already. I thought it'd take her longer.

“Last but certainly not least, the Empire 88. Nazi assholes. They don’t give a single shit about the masking code, honor, unwritten rules, the cops-and-robbers game. They play for keeps. The only reason they haven’t killed gov-capes yet is because that’s a fucking stupid idea, but with those clowns all it’ll take is one bad night and the Protectorate will declare war on them. I’m not holding my breath on that.”

Madison lets out a shuddering breath. “Me either. So… that's not everybody, right?”

“Nope. There’s the smaller groups, the ones that don’t hold much if any territory. There's the Ambassadors. Accord runs them out of Boston, but they have dealings here. If you're lucky, you'll never have to worry about them. If you’re not, keep in mind that Accord expects anyone in his presence to be sharply dressed and on their best behavior. Personally, I hate having to dress up? But they're very insistent on this. I think Accord just has a formalwear fetish.” Kat sounds a bit irritated now, being reminded of the time they had to put on a formal dress and heels just to visit Accord.

I scowl in sympathy. The one time we met with his group, I was sketched out as hell by them. Nobody looks that fucking put together unless they're an asshole - or under the thumb of one. At least everybody agreed I looked good in a suit. “He’s a control freak.”

“That too.”

Madison speaks up. “What about the other groups?”

Kat takes up the thread again. “Okay. There’s Faultline’s merc crew. She mostly has metaforms in her crew - so-called Case 53s. People who drastically and permanently changed from getting their powers. They’ve got a very solid rep, but they typically run ops outside of town. She doesn’t like to shit where she eats, is her reason. They recently came back from Val Verde, augmenting Guatemalan capes during the recent ‘police action’.” They briefly make air quotes with their free hand.

“So I likely won’t run into them?”

“Probably not. Then you’ve got the Undersiders. They’re basically an infiltration merc team, led by Grue. His power is to emit waves of darkness, and Tattletale, his second, is a social thinker. She claims to be psychic, but I’ve seen her shtick before; she’s just got amazing intuition, to the point that it’s a power. Circus has run with them before. Not a lot of muscle, but they usually hire it as needed. If you want to be a villain, I can give you an intro; I’m sure they wouldn’t mind having you hench for them. Odds are you won’t meet them unless you’re a rogue or a Ward, though.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Okay. That’s fair. Then you’ve got Uber and Leet. It’s not just those two anymore, but they’re the core of the team. You probably remember their GTA episode.”

That one was hilarious. Leet tried to attack an escort, because of course that’s how boys play GTA. Unfortunately for him, in this town, sex workers tend to travel in packs and hire security. Streetwalking is too dangerous otherwise - the Empire hate crime spree last year made sure of that. So, one of her friends took exception to this and cracked Uber over the head with a baseball bat, and their hired goon shot Leet in his armor vest three times. It flailed his chest, and then the escorts gave them a boot party. Half with platforms, half with stilletos.

At that point, Lung showed up, took a statement from the escorts, found Uber and Leet’s getaway van, and burned it down to the frame. Then after the duo escaped, he hauled them in and gave his one warning. They’ve been scrupulously avoiding anything like that ever since.

I’m snickering just thinking about it.

Madison’s snickering, too. Oh, yeah, she remembers.

“Anyway, they hire occasionally, if you want some extra money. I’m sure they can find a game that’d fit your powerset. Or you could play into their hands and end up fighting them to a theme. It’s happened before. Finally…”

I groan. Here it comes.

Kat ignores me pointedly. “New Wave. They’re a hero group, more or less a family outfit. Many of their powers fit a specific theme, with the exception of Panacea, also known as Amelia Pelham. Her healing power is bio-control, and she’s a passable biotinker as well. Charges quite a bit if you’re not PRT or she’s not doing a charity shift at Memorial. The rest? Lasers, shields, things like that. Glory Girl tends to be the one newbies run into - be glad you didn’t take her on, because she can seriously fuck you up with her Alexandria package. She’s also got some sort of awe or fear power.”

I interject. “Look, you’ve seen most of New Wave - as in the team - before. I’d be very surprised if you didn’t know about them.”

Madison shrugs. “I know about them, yeah. Not, like, how to fight them or anything, but I know about them.”

Kat clears their throat. “So yeah, that’s all the groups. There’s also Parian - she’s a fashion designer and seamstress with some sort of projector module that lets her fight using stuffed animals and music.”

“Projector module?”

My eyes go wide. Another Symphogear user? Why haven’t I heard about this?

“It’s not quite like Taylor’s. Parian doesn’t talk about it, whatever it is. Taylor, I’ll tell you what I know, later, okay?” Kat’s clearly wondering about something now.

I nod. “Okay.”

Madison frowns. “Wait. I know there’s a group you’re not mentioning. A mechanic and a cat girl who makes cats bigger, who sometimes fight Noise but mostly stay to themselves. From what I remember on PHO, they have a new member, some sort of … Blaster…”

Kat looks a little annoyed. “I was building to that. Taylor?”

It’s time for me to tell her who we are. “We’re the Others. We’re a rogue group, mixed cape and baseline. The demigirl driving us around in my station wagon is Burnout. They/them pronouns, so please don’t be rude. Rachel isn’t here, she’s the cat girl who makes cats the size of super-bears. Jammer, she’s our software and hardware hacker, wants to drive a giant robot some day, is really cute, _anduhmovingon_ … And I’m the newbie who makes the music happen with my powers. Synth.”

Madison’s eyes are wide. “Oh, wow. That explains a lot. Were you all out here looking for me?”

“No? You were the one who dropped in on us. I would’ve been really pissed if I’d run you over… and trashed the front end in the process.” Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.

“How convenient I skipped away in time, then,” replies Madison dryly.

“I… shit. I mean, I’m really glad I didn’t run you over. And I’m glad my car didn’t get trashed the first time I got to drive it in months. That’s what I meant.” I’m blushing furiously.

“It’s okay.”

“So…” Gods, this is awkward.

Madison is looking better, just a bit uncertain. “So. Um. I’m feeling better. Is there anywhere we could go and just, you know, talk things out?”

Kat answers for me. “Sure. Like I said, we can take you home, or to the warehouse, or even to Fugly Bob’s or something. But I kinda need to take care of things back home, so…”

Madison thinks for a second. “Warehouse. It’s where you live, right?”

Kat nods. “That’s right. Synth hangs out there most nights, but Rachel and I are, well, the only two that stay permanently, after my friends’ polycule moved out. Not sure what Circus plans to do, but that’s what I need to talk to them about.”

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

* * *

About thirty minutes later, we pull back into the parking pad outside the warehouse, and the garage door opens to reveal Rachel, with Brick in her hands. I get out of the car, walking over to the driver’s side.

Kat’s using their Mom voice on Madison. “Stay here, Skipper. I need to talk to my girlfriend first.”

I hear Madison mumble her assent as Kat gets out and leaves me the driver’s seat. I get in, but don’t buckle up - I’m only going to be pulling it in. I can hear them talking, then Rachel walks away with her cat, looking a little distressed. I can’t blame her.

Kat walks back over, and I roll down the window. “Okay, she can come in. Skipper, are you going to attack my people?”

“W-what? No! No, of course not!”

“Okay, had to ask. Come on in, then.” Kat starts walking towards the loft, and I release the e-brake and let the clutch out, allowing my Stagea to roll into its space. Then I turn off the car, set the e-brake and line lock, and grab the laptop. Finally, I let her out of the car.

“Hey, Skipper? Follow me, okay?”

“Okay.”

We walk up the stairs to the loft. The downstairs couch got… kinda mutilated by Princess hulking out and shredding the couch using it as a scratching post last week, so Kat’s living room is now our only hangout area. I can hear Circus talking, rather animatedly. Soon, we arrive and I open the door into the living room.

“…and I threw a flashbang at her feet. Hoodie girl wasn’t paying attention and saw it go off! Then Jammer texts me and tells me you've got a getaway van for me, so of course I split. Damn, that a was a good fight.”

Rachel speaks up. “How’s that a good fight?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

She nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

Diana waves at me and Madison, and I lead her into the room. Circus looks up from rolling a joint.

Kat looks annoyed. “Circus, take that shit outside if you’re gonna smoke it. We’ve got kids in here.”

“Fine.” They finish rolling it and put it away. “It was for later, anyway. Hoodie girl! That wasn’t bad. I’d give you a six out of ten.”

Madison flops into a recliner, and sputters. “Hoodie girl!? It’s Skipper!”

“You’re a Barbie? Nah, can’t see it.” While Circus teases her, I sit down on the couch and Diana presses herself up against me.

“No, no, that’s my power. I skip around and sometimes I kinda explode! And I almost had you!”

“Almost doesn’t count.”

“I… I… aaaaaaugh!”

We start laughing at that, and then I decide to speak up. “Seriously, though. Why were you trying to kill Circus?”

Madison looks a bit grumpy. “I was _trying_ to capture them. You know, what heroes are supposed to do? Except apparently up is down and you’re not supposed to do that.”

I smile at that. “Well, no, not really. Besides, Circus could’ve taken you apart if they were of a mind to.”

Kat chuckles a little. “Pretty sure you keep stuff way more lethal in your portals than a flashbang, right?”

Circus nods. “I wasn’t sure how tanky you were, and my battle skates aren’t good for that kind of dance, or I’d have totally tagged you with my rocket hammer.” They casually open a portal and a five-pound sledgehammer with a tinkertech booster welded to the back drops into their hand. “Or I could’ve just shot you.” They dismiss the hammer and a submachine gun falls out of their portal next. They point it at the ceiling, finger obviously away from the trigger, then drop it into a portal and sigh. “Point is, I could’ve ruined your night, permanently. I didn’t. I’m no hero, but I’m not an asshole.”

“…thanks, I guess. Am I really that bad at this?”

“Well, Skipper… your costume, if my guess is right, is a set of skater pads, jeans, hoodie and scarf. Your only real protection is the pads and the slight padding that heavy hoodie of yours gives you. Look, I get wanting to use your powers without outing yourself immediately, but I’m guessing you don’t go hobopunching normally.”

“No? I was just going to skip around the Boneyards for a while, but then I caught you stealing stuff. And I don’t punch hobos.”

“Riiiight.” They’re not quite buying it, but let it drop. “So you decide to fight me, and you make the first big mistake.”

“What’s that?”

Circus is definitely warming to the topic. “If you’re going to do any sort of caping shit, you need to keep this in mind. Not everything is a nail for your power’s hammer. Sometimes you can solve situations by just talking things out. And sometimes you need to resort to gadgets. I took you down with a flashbang. Just one flashbang, that I bought a box of fifty for like five hundred off of a fixer. I didn’t have to use any exotic tinkertech or a gun. All I had to do was toss it and trust the flash-comp in my goggles.”

Madison’s quiet. Kat takes up the thread. “They're right. Most hero and villain clashes are more about the fucking ‘cops and robbers’ game we’re playing than any motivation to help or hurt everyone. That's why we're rogues, because if and when I fight? I play for keeps. And my team, thus far, agrees with that.”

“I don't know that it's a game…” Madison’s gazing at her sneakers.

“It's not! Before you got powers, people like us, if we wanted, could walk all over you, victimize you, because no matter how badass you are as a baseline, a lot of powers can simply end you. And now you've got one of your own, and it turns out that your power kinda sucks. Sure, you can move very fast, but you also tend to do your explosion thing when you land, right?”

Madison nods. “It’s not that I don’t have any control, it’s that… how to explain - I have to use it sometimes? And the more hops I do the harder it is to hold it off. Enough hops and I’d have to explode. I’m getting better about it, but…”

“Yeah. I mean, that’s a pretty good offensive power against brutes and such. It’s the kind of power you’d want to take on higher-tier capes, but you don’t have the finesse to really hold back against unpowered gangers or capes lacking brute powers or other forms of protection.”

She nods again, a bit more sadly. “So I’ve got a power that’s suited for a villain.”

“No. No, no, no, no! That’s not it! Look, just because the government has the power to declare you a hero or a villain, that says nothing about what you are. Or how you use your powers. There’s more than a few people in the Protectorate and even the Wards that are complete fucking assholes in uniform and out, but they’re still called heroes. And there’s more than a few villains who are good people at heart, but aren’t in a position to be officially good. Me, I say fuck all that, this whole “capes are demons or angels” line of bullshit stuck in our culture. I’m a rogue, and I'm fucking proud of it! I don’t call myself a hero, because you can’t fix root causes by punching gangsters. I’m not a villain, either, because I haven’t crossed enough people at the PRT to make them call me one. I just make stuff and people buy it. I do my best to vet who buys my work, because it’s all custom, but I don’t pretend that it isn’t misused sometimes. But I don't play that game. The way I got my powers, it's a little too real for me to play the game like other capes do.” Kat sighs loudly at the end and starts staring at their boots.

We're quiet, letting Madison process all that. After a couple of minutes, she looks determined. “So why do people play the game?”

“Because there isn't any way around it. Because it lets us use our powers and stir shit up without lots of dead bodies every time a gang lieutenant breathes funny. Because nobody wants to be responsible for a real cape war, like that shit down in Val Verde with their jumped up Contra fascists and their pet cape psychos.”

“Oh. Is that a danger?”

I speak up. “My first girlfriend moved away because of the Empire. The only reason we haven't seen full-scale cape wars here in Brockton Bay is because Kaiser has kept the peace. So far he’s played the game, and so have his capes. I’d say their baselines worry me a bit more, since they aren’t bound by all the rules of the game. But… yeah. Anything could set that shit off.”

“Huh. Well… everyone here’s given me a lot to think about.” Now that I think about it, Madison looks tired.

Circus looks up. “Hey, Kat, so about your offer, way back when… I think I’d like to take you up on it.”

Kat thinks. “You mean joining us? I’ve got no objections. Anyone else?”

Both me and Diana shake our heads. Rachel shrugs and mumbles something noncommittal. Madison looks like she wants to say something.

Kat claps their hands. “Well, then! Circus, welcome to the team.”

Circus smiles at this. “Thanks, Kat. Hey, Skipper, you want in too?”

Madison looks up. “Uh… what? Just… join you right now? I think I’m already committed to the Wards or something.”

Kat interrupts. “Look, you don’t have to decide right now, and I’m sure you’ve got legal shit to sort out. You’re not officially in the Wards so your mom could withdraw your app, let you go to the PRT and formally join us. Circus has to do that anyway, but it might be a bit complicated for them.”

Madison shrugs. “Um. I’d like to think about it? I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you guys.” Diana winces a little at that one.

I nod. “Sure. If you’ve got no objections?”

Kat shook their head. “I think she needs to go home now.”

“I’ll take her, then.”

We pick up our stuff, say our goodbyes, I accept a hug from Diana and before I know it we’re back at my Stagea. Damn, it’s late. 10:40pm? Madison rattles off her address, and I put it in my phone and start driving there.

“Hey, Madison, you wanna come to the show I’m playing? It’s this coming Saturday.”

“Um… sure, Taylor. If I’m not grounded.”

I smile at her. “Great!”

Tonight could’ve gone better, but… I’ve made a new friend. She used to be just an acquaintance I sometimes bailed out of sticky school situations, but when she’s not being worked over by Sophia’s goons, she’s actually pretty cool. That, and she has powers. It’s nice to have friends who understand that part of my life.

Things are looking up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done with the arc! There might be an interlude later - I'm taking ideas for it. Another 2Div interlude is unlikely for the moment. Some of the OCs or near-OCs' stories may be worth telling, though Diana will likely have to wait for Arc 2 or 3 for narrative reasons.
> 
> Also, I've been trying for longer chapters, and this one clicked; at 5180 words it's longer than 1.3, which was the previous long-chapter - but a lot of it's because it's exposition I've discussed to death with my beta. As always, thanks to TheWonko for being my long-suffering beta and putting up with me dumping paragraphs into their Discord DMs from my phone at 1am.


	8. 2.0: Emily Piggot

February 26, 2011  
Brockton Bay, MA  
5:31am

  
[Emily Piggot]

  
_Deserted._  
  
_That was my first impression of Ellisburg. Two days ago, it was a small but lively town in upstate New York, centered around a paper mill. A day ago, we got a panicked call from the PRT rep, which was cut off before he could do anything more than breathlessly ask for backup. State troopers tried to enter the town a few hours later, but were chased off by what their reports described as “monsters”. We were formally called up after six hours and on a transport within minutes._  
  
_Killing monsters? Bringing in their makers? That’s our job. Other teams may derisively call us bug hunters, like in Aliens, but we know better. We go in, assess targets, perform search and rescue, and we either get rid of the source or we call in airstrikes. It’s hard, messy work, but it’s important. And with the so-called Noise coming out of the dimensional cracks? We had the toughest jobs. Fortunately, there’s little to suggest that the Noise were related to what was going on here, but I brought along some emitter grenades, just in case._  
  
_Even if there were Noise, though, I had to admit the four B-52s loitering in the area with strike orders ready to incinerate the whole area made me feel a little better._  
  
_“It’s too quiet. Way too quiet. If there’s monsters on the loose, shouldn’t we be hearing them?” Jameson’s our squad automatic carrier. He’s a bit… new. I realize subvocals aren’t fully audible but I can sort of hear him talk._  
  
_“Not necessarily. Could be hibernating, waiting to surprise us.” Rudy, our team sniper._  
  
_“Rudy’s got the right idea. We don’t know what hit this place. Keep off the mic unless you’ve got something important to say.” I almost hiss the last part._  
  
_Along the way, we see piles of ashes. Someone could’ve gotten lucky and set the monsters on fire._  
  
_“Squelching sounds ahead.”_  
  
_Fuck. I bring my SR-25 up, aiming through the scope._  
  
_“Contact!” Jameson’s already brought up his SAW and started firing. Those monsters aren’t Noise - they look more like goblins out of some awful fairy tale. I open fire myself, tearing the creatures to shreds. They don’t seem to have any ranged abilities, thankfully, and we cut them down quickly._  
  
_Rudy’s looking through his scope, frowning. “I don’t think the creatures were after us.”_  
  
_Harris, one of our rifle troopers, pipes up. “Of course they were after us. They ran right at us!”_  
  
_Call it intuition, call it experience, call it whatever. “No. They were fleeing. We ended up in their path, that’s all. The monsters are hostile but they’re not seeking us out.”_  
  
_I hear a call over the radio. “Noise! We’ve got Noise!”_  
  
_“Where?”_  
  
_“They’re all around us!”_  
  
_I can hear gunfire, and lots of it. The squelching sounds are getting louder. “Emitters. We need kill zones now. Get ready.”_  
  
_My team’s good - within a few minutes, we have the emitters deployed and wired into a multichannel detonator. A few are kept in reserve, and those of us with grenade launchers are now only loaded with emitters._  
  
_The radio crackles. “Calvert! What the fuck are you-AAAUGH FUCK!”_  
  
_I hear Team Beta’s second in command speak up. “Mission takes priority. Evacuating the Principal now.” A sharp report echoes over the channel. “After you, Doctor. We only have so many decoys.”_  
  
_Before I know it, they’re upon us. We fire our weapons, and it does nothing. The emitters do nothing.  We keep firing, but it isn’t long before I’m the only one standing. I drop my empty mag and move to chamber a new one, squeezing off the loaded grenade from my rifle as I do so. The pulse throws me backwards into more Noise. With a steady, painful finality, my arms and back burn with a torturous agony as the Noise annihilates-!_  
  
As she did on so many nights, Emily Piggot woke up in terror, bathed in her own sweat.  
  
She cursed under her breath. It had been almost a decade and she still wasn’t over it. The augmentation revolution may have given her her kidneys, her joints and her life back, but it came far too late to let her participate in field ops ever again.  
  
Not, she thought wryly, that she should be going into the field anyway. That was a young soldier’s game, not something she was particularly suited for. Besides, fighting Noise took a lot out of a person. She definitely appreciated each and every one of her troopers who volunteered for anti-Noise duties, but the fact remained that it wasn’t something she was capable of contributing to in the field.  
  
So she commanded a desk, and through it all of the PRT’s personnel in Southeast Massachusetts and northern Rhode Island. Her district was called East Northeast, since at one point it had been the regional command point for everything east of New York State. Successive reorganizations whittled down her district from a regional command to a backwater, not that she had ever truly been a regional director.  
  
Enough brooding. She frowned, then picked up her PRT-issued smartphone, checking her blood filter status. Ninety-two percent efficiency; her new kidneys were handling their bodily functions competently. She nodded to herself and set to dressing for the day.

* * *

  
After her morning meetings, and a working lunch, she expected a crisis. After all, with the National Renaissance Conference in town, neo-Nazis had been pouring into the city for the past two days. The city she was responsible for protecting was bracing for the worst. So far, only a few hate crimes had been reported, dealt with harshly by the BBPD. After what the media dubbed the “White Rage” crime spree last year, the police were in no mood to tolerate the antics of drunken skinhead thugs. That’s what tends to happen when skinheads gun down cops, after all. Even leaving aside the public and gratuitous sprees of assault, grand theft and murder. Some neo-Nazi parahumans had even joined in the rampage, which had almost created a jurisdictional clusterfuck.  
  
There. The dreaded buzz of her intercom. She glanced down at the lights; it was a priority three. Important enough to require her personal attention, but not Endbringer or Chief Director important. “Yes?”  
  
“Skipper here to see you, ma’am. It’s about the altercation last Saturday.”  
  
Emily grimaced. “Not the one on Sunday?”  
  
“Ma’am, I just screen them.” She could hear her secretary smiling at her.  
  
“Send her in.”  
  
Skipper walked in, clearly uncomfortable. She gestured towards the chairs in front of her desk. “Have a seat. What’s on your mind?”  
  
She sat down, looking anxious. “Uh. PRT called last night, said they wanted to speak to me about the Shadow Stalker… thing.”  
  
She suppressed the urge to groan. “So. Two separate incidents last week. First, you had an altercation with one of my Wards. Then, on Monday I receive an after-action report from a rogue team that you had another altercation with one of their prospective members.” Emily was not in the mood for this conversation. “So yes, I do want to speak with you. I’ve already spoken with Shadow Stalker, but before I commit to resolving this matter I need your version of events.”  
  
As she expected, Skipper shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “Couldn’t you just, uh… ask the Wards? The other ones? They seemed nice enough, though I didn’t meet all of them.”  
  
“I have spoken to them, yes. But I need you to explain, as well.”  
  
Skipper sighed. “Shadow Stalker harassed me at school, in her civilian guise, for almost two years. If it wasn’t her, it was one of her clique. Julia, Steven, half the track team…”  
  
 Emily nodded. Inwardly, she was seething. If Blackwell hadn’t been ashed by the Noise, she’d have had her brought in. Sophia’s handler had been fired during the corruption sweep that had been sparked by Madison’s allegations in her civilian identity. She’d accused Shadow Stalker’s civilian identity of this exact crime, in fact.  
  
For her part, Shadow Stalker had denied putting Skipper into the locker, although she’d offhandedly mentioned that she’d sealed up Madison’s locker with her powers. When questioned further, it was because, in her words “it smelled like that biohazard waste container we recovered from the Merchants back in December, only worse”.  
  
“Shadow Stalker sealed up that locker. How did you end up in it?”  
  
Skipper frowned. “One of her jock buddies pushed me in. She came along five minutes later and sealed it - stuck her hand in. My friend wasn’t able to open it at first, and I caught a brief glimpse of the locker door when she did open it. She’d ripped it off.”  
  
Emily briefly checked the evidence log from the Winslow massacre. “We recovered a locker door at the scene. 394, I believe? It did have carbonized biologicals with a high concentration of hemoglobin, as well as indications of being opened through the use of a tool and augmented strength. The latch mechanisms were indeed welded to the locker’s housing, and still attached to the door.”  
  
Skipper nodded at that. “Sounds about right.”  
  
Emily leaned forward a bit. “So why did you fight her?”

  
[Madison]

  
 _My blood thundered in my ears. I’d know that fucking voice, that flippant, dismissive tone of hers anywhere._  
  
_Shadow Stalker was Sophia Hess, that fucking track star bitch that ruined my life. Why wouldn’t Sophia be here? Clearly the universe wasn’t done shitting on me yet. And Sophia was staring at me. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke._  
  
_“Hah! So the wannabe social butterfly got herself powers! Maybe you’ll actually be worth a damn in the field.” Sophia smirked at me._  
  
_My mouth worked open and closed._  
  
_Aegis stood up, seeming very irritated. “Shadow Stalker. Quit antagonizing the prospectives.”_  
  
_I finally found my voice. “I… you_ bullied _me. You bullied me, Sophia. How the hell did you get to be a_ hero _?”_  
  
_“Huh. Guess your power didn’t give you any more of a spine. You still complain about everything and follow idiots like a lost puppy.” Now_ she's _irritated, but what else is new?_  
  
_Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the other Wards shifting uncomfortably._  
  
_“Is that what all of that was? Some kind of sick ‘character building exercise’, then?”_  
  
_“Who cares about a bunch of stupid normie kids or the wannabe gangbangers? You got powers! What's a little high school drama, compared to what you have? You're above that shit now.” Irritation and boredom! You'd think she'd remember one of the people she'd singled out for tormenting ever since I started the 9th grade._  
  
_I should've gone to Immaculata, but no, my dad just had to alienate the principal there. Instead I ended up stuck in that hellscape._  
  
_“I… I…” I'd always dreamed of removing that smirk from her face, and here I was, blowing it._  
  
_“Whatever. Aegis, are we done here or do I have to keep listening to this delusional brat?” She was already turning around to leave._  
  
_I didn't hear what he said next. Or what she'd snapped back with, or the other Wards yelling at each other all at once. I sort of zoned out._  
  
_When I looked back up, she was standing right in front of me, staring at the door behind me. “Move, brat.” Clearly, she was enraged._  
  
_Frankly?_  
  
_So was I._  
  
_So I swung at her, my palm open. I hadn't even thought to curl it into a fist - I was going to slap her, but I wanted to punch her too, and…_

 

* * *

  
  
“You know the rest. Apparently that's called a palm strike? Broke her nose with it. I hesitated at first, then I just started swinging wildly, then, well… Vista, I think? Somehow she pulled us apart.” Skipper frowned, staring at her sneakers.  
  
The Director kept her face still. Truth be told, Shadow Stalker was on Piggot’s last nerve. Excessive force during her unsanctioned “solo patrols” - patrols she hadn’t been cleared for yet, evading the spirit of her probation terms, the time she’d been caught a week ago with standard broadheads in her loadout… all this added up to one conclusion.  
  
Shadow Stalker had to become somebody else’s problem. Despite being one of the more effective capes against the Noise breakouts - and she _had_ acquitted herself well in the defense of Shelter 2-C - she was far too much of a legal and public relations liability. It was already clear that Shadow Stalker’s rehabilitation wasn’t likely with her local resources. If the investigation into Ms. Clements’ claims bore fruit, she would have ample justification to escalate Shadow Stalker’s case. While she was tempted to foist her upon the Cheyenne Nexus Containment Zone, that wasn’t something she could or would do lightly. The life of Noise fighters tended to be short, and painful - entirely incompatible with the stated goals of the Wards program.  
  
Thanks to the updated transfer request file on her desk, she had a possible answer. New York City had a couple of Wards who were interested in leaving. One of them, Flechette, would be relatively easy to on-board, and would soon be eligible for the Protectorate team. She’d specifically requested an “active city” and no longer wished to remain in New York. Bad memories, perhaps, but not her problem. She nodded to herself - if only all personnel problems were so easy to resolve.  
  
“Very well, Skipper. What about the next incident?”  
  
“Um. I was walking through the docks, to find a good spot to try out my powers. I’d been really, really, restless for weeks by that point.” Now she was fidgeting. “I didn’t bring anything fancy - just some skater pads my nephew left at the house, my hoodie, and a scarf. I was crossing the Docks to the Boneyard and there’s an expensive SUV sitting there in a parking lot. A Mercedes-Benz, I think. I’d have ignored it, but there was somebody suspicious-looking picking the lock. I skipped towards them, and they smashed the window instead, grabbed a briefcase from the car, then they made the briefcase disappear.”  
  
“Sounds reasonable so far.”  
  
“Yeah. I chased them for several blocks, but I couldn't keep up with their rollerblades, so I started using my power. At first, I didn't need to explode, which was good for the car that nearly crashed into me. After that, it was harder to hold back. The… perp? Suspect? Circus headed into a parking lot, and when I headed in, I… screwed up. I blew up a guard shack. The shack didn't have anyone in it - I think it was abandoned. So anyway, I started trying to trap them in the parking lot by making craters. Instead, they turned the tables on me with a flashbang. I think? Whatever you call stun grenades, I guess. Anyway, the sound didn't get me, but I was blinded. Maybe my power thought the sound was part of a blast and protected me from it, I dunno. That's when I heard Synth coming at me, but I thought she was Circus, so I skipped into her. Just before I landed and exploded, I realized who she actually was. I felt like such a dumbass.”  
  
“Did she survive?”  
  
“Yeah… yeah. Synth has to be a brute, I think, because all she did was make a loud wheezing sound and then grabbed me to punch me. I was terrified she was going to punch me senseless, but then she just got up and demanded to know what I was doing. We talked for a bit, her team drove me around in circles for a while, and they explained all this cape stuff to me. The ‘cape game’, unspoken rules, masking codes, things like that. They even told me about power compulsions… and I hadn’t used my powers since you people did power testing with me a few weeks ago. Why didn’t anybody tell me about that? I feel so stupid.” Skipper was looking down at the floor, clearly ashamed of her actions.  
  
“The Others, right?”  
  
“Yeah.” She continued to stare down at the floor.  
  
Emily sat back and thought for a moment. What the girl had said lined up with the after-action report the Others had submitted, like they did after all interactions with PRT-aligned capes. Almost a model independent team, really, as far as the paperwork was concerned. Regardless, it seemed that they had given Madison The Superpower Talk, explaining the unfortunately-necessary Unspoken Rules, the use compulsion, and so on. All the things that should have been explained when the PRT officer and Miss Militia first visited her in the hospital, in fact. Emily was going to have to look into that later.  
  
More concerning was Madison's story of what happened when she met the Wards. Her story matched the Wards debriefings she had read through, especially the one from Gallant, which ended with "The emotions those two are throwing off... [the Director]’s going to have to pick one of them, because they won't work together. There’s just far too much hostility between the two. I think Shadow Stalker caused Skipper's trigger event, but I can't be sure."  
  
Added to the fact that the Clements family was busy suing anyone even remotely involved with the Winslow incident, including one Sophia Hess, her family, and her (now former) social worker, this whole situation was, at best, a minefield.  
  
"Miss Clements," she finally said, "The Wards and the PRT take a dim view of heroes going on solo patrols. We have our protocols for a reason, and that reason is to keep our people _alive_."  
  
The girl winced.  
  
"However, since at the time of your... interaction with Circus you were not part of the PRT, Wards, or Protectorate, you couldn't have been expected to know that. And given that the owner of the parking lot has not come forward to press any charges, and that you seem to have actually learned your lesson about property damage and situational awareness, there's not much I can do with this except remind you that, given recent events, all the Wards are now closely monitored for... problematic behaviors. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am, I think I do."  
  
"Good. Then I don't expect to have to have this talk with you again. Have a good day."  
  
Skipper started to gather herself up to leave. “Oh! Um. I have a question.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Is it okay if… I’m around the Others?”  
  
“Fraternization between Wards and legally-declared rogues is permitted, but if and when you’re on patrol, you’re expected to follow orders should you encounter rogues. I should point out that you’re not currently a Ward, and your status with the PRT is legally in limbo because of the lawsuits regarding you. That means you won’t be able to join the Others legally, either, and your parents have to sign a waiver in any case.”  
  
“But as long as I don’t actually join them, it’s okay?”  
  
“Yes. Have a good day.”  
  
Skipper’s face lit up and she skipped (but not Skipped) out of the Director’s office. Once she was alone, Emily sighed and called up the crisis point paperwork.  
  
Well, that explained it. Miss Militia did her best, but Madison had been in shock at the time. There was supposed to have been a follow-up meeting before the power testing - one that in Madison’s file, had been postponed indefinitely. Idly, she checked the case worker’s name, and growled as the name of that incompetent do-nothing appeared on her screen.  
  
Well, that was an explanation at least, but not an excuse. Madison Clements' case was turning up even more internal review topics than anyone knew. Including case reassignment when the original caseworker is fired for gross incompetence. He would simply have to do without the PRT’s legal eagles watching his back, but if he’d wanted that, maybe he should have done his job.  
  
Setting a note to add case reassignments to the ever-growing pile of policy review topics, Emily turned back to the rest of her work. Another requisition from Kid Win and Armsmaster for a case of “DragonTech SMD ultracapacitors”.  
  
Paperwork was the bane of every PRT officer. Ever since she’d been a grunt, she’d hated dealing with bureaucratic box-ticking. She understood that it was important and necessary, but with the internal reviews underway, she couldn’t delegate as much as she liked.  
  
She liked dealing with registered rogues more than her own capes, sometimes. Unreliable when it came to fighting crime, but staying out of trouble? That was something most rogues could handle. Synth in particular was an interesting case. She’d first been seen bringing Skipper to a hospital during the class-six Noise outbreak, which made it likely that she knew who Skipper was in her civilian life, and that Skipper knew who Synth was too. Something to keep in mind. Later reports involved one of her beams briefly being fired into the sky, and then a month of random sightings of her testing her powers on one of the Boneyard’s ships. She’d run into Wards and even Glory Girl before, politely but firmly declining to join in cape fights, patrols or the Wards program.  
  
It probably didn’t hurt that the leader of the Others was usually accompanying her. Burnout had been something of a headache at first, and it didn’t help that her partner, Queen, had become a leftist parahuman cause célèbre several years ago when Columbus PRT had picked her up and then proceeded to lose the case quite soundly. But they’d both turned over a new leaf in Brockton Bay, even if Burnout occasionally threatened to “turn Skidmark into a fucking skidmark for killing [their] sister”.  
  
She glanced up briefly at her clock. It was after 5PM - time to start prepping for the weekend Protectorate briefing at 7:30. She was about to press the intercom when it buzzed.  
  
“Ma’am, you have a visitor.”  
  
Emily groaned. “I’m busy preparing for a briefing and it’s not on the schedule. Tell them to make an appointment.”  
  
“Uh… Ma’am, I’m not sure I can.”  
  
What? “What do you mean? Just say ‘if you don’t have an appointment, you can’t see the Director’.”  
  
Instead of a response over the intercom, the door opened. In walked a man Emily Piggot recognized and dearly wished she didn’t.  
  
“What your dear secretary meant,” said the man, gesturing with his briefcase, “Is that I am my own appointment.”  
  
“Lieutenant Calvert,” Emily said in a clipped voice as she stood up, “I never thought I’d see you in my office.”  
  
“Oh, no, not lieutenant, not anymore. It’s just ‘Agent Calvert’ now. Much easier to spell.”  
  
“And here I thought there hadn’t been a change in your rank,” Emily grinned tightly, “Alas.”  
  
“I do what needs to be done.” Agent Calvert smiled. “I have pressing business in this city, and with your agency.”  
  
“Clearly. Why are you here?”  
  
“When are you planning to detain Synth? We’ve had a capture and procure order on her since Monday.” Agent Calvert handed over a piece of paper. “In case your secretary misfiled it.”  
  
Emily gritted her teeth as she read through it. “We don’t interfere in your agency’s affairs… whatever the hell they are.”  
  
The Department of Sacrist Operations, an obscure agency in the Department of Defense. Their existence wasn’t classified, but everything else about them was. All the Director knew was that apparently the PRT had to be their gofers due to an obscure regulatory clause. The DSO dealt in black-project tinkertech of some sort, and were the ones testing the Project ASM technology - a device that, if the DSO was to be believed, promised to give baseline humans powers.  
  
Agent Calvert sniffed at this. “The order is lawful and has been signed by a judge. Further, you failed to duly inform us about the misuse of classified deep technologies.”  
  
“Then why am I the first to hear about this?”  
  
He produced another piece of paper. “Here. Sign this.”  
  
Reluctantly, the Director looked it over. It was an NDA, countersigned by the Chief Director herself. She picked up a pen and grudgingly signed it.  
  
“Thank you. What I am about to discuss is classified.”  
  
Emily felt under her desk and pressed a button, turning on the active jammers and anti-spying measures. After a minute, the windows and doors finished sealing themselves shut, and the light on her desk console turned green. She nodded to him.  
  
“We’re secure. Say your piece.”  
  
“Very well. We want our technology back, and its wielder. One of your local rogue capes isn’t really a cape. She uses a classified next-generation anti-Noise ASM system, which she is not supposed to have.” Calvert passed yet another sheet to her. “Her MIRIS interim change report. She wrote in the ASM section the model number of her classified technology. pSG-m00. That’s damning on its own, but we also have documented evidence of an unauthorized activation of this system far outside of the testing labs.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
“We require her full name and all other personally identifiable information. This order requires your agency to turn over everything you know about the unauthorized user of our technology.”  
  
“NEPEA-5 was repealed almost a decade ago. The Vikare Act and the Osaka Accords are still in effect. We do not have that information because we do not record it. What you see in her MIRIS records is what we have.” Idiot. The PRT and especially the MIRIS rogues program could never function if every random parahuman lived in fear that they would be conscripted into the Protectorate simply by speaking to any of their representatives. The DSO, on the other hand…                 
  
He recovered with aplomb. “Very well. I need all the data you do have on her. We believe we know who she is - a criminal malcontent with multiple brushes with the law. She carries a weapon system that’s an A-class threat all on its own. It is your agency’s duty to cooperate in her apprehension, the confiscation of her stolen technology, and to remand her to our custody as soon as possible.”  
  
She sighed. “Your intel is likely off. Synth’s been a model rogue. In her only cape fight, she stepped in and de-escalated a conflict between a prospective Ward and a local rogue, risking death in the process. Your evidence that Synth is somehow some A-class villainous threat is lacking, but the PRT will cooperate as required.” After the utter clusterfuck in Denver, it was passed down from higher up that it was best to just give the DSO’s agents whatever they wanted and not ask questions, full-scale gang wars be damned.  
  
“The technology in question is classified above your level. I am telling you as much as your clearance level allows. Nevertheless, the DSO appreciates your cooperation. Good evening.”  
  
That smarmy, self-satisfied prick.  
  
She watched him swagger away, then called Legal to inform them of the capture order. She wasn’t required to force the Protectorate branch to drop everything and attempt to capture her, but she did have to follow procedure. For once, Emily found herself upset that a cape in her jurisdiction had actually filled out their paperwork properly. Her office could have avoided so much trouble if Synth had waited until she’d properly debuted as a cape, since she wasn’t the hobopunching type. Parahuman excessive force meant a headache, which was why she liked dealing with the Others - they stayed to themselves and only fought when necessary.  
  
Emily put it out of her mind. The briefing was important, and apparently the Customs, FBI and the BBPD liaisons had invited themselves. It wouldn’t do to be unprepared.

* * *

  
The Director sat down in her chair, groaning. In a few minutes, she’d have an agent drive her home, but the briefing had been very stressful, so she wanted a chance to catch her breath. Customs and the FBI had briefed the PRT and especially the Protectorate on some of the more prominent Geisselschaft agents and neo-Nazis at the convention. Apparently one of the white power bands coming in to perform at the conference from overseas - “Zyklon Beta” - had caused a small riot at Logan earlier today, attempting to smuggle in advanced automatic rifles and tinkertech powersuits in the cargo hold of their airline charter and then fighting the Customs agents and Boston police that tried to apprehend them. Meanwhile, BBPD mostly complained that the PRT wasn’t taking the threat posed by the “National Renaissance Conference” seriously. She had reminded them that the PRT was tied down trying to suppress the ongoing Empire-Merchants turf war, but agreed to detach more PRT squads for convention center patrols.  
  
She was about to pick up the phone and call the dispatch desk, when the phone rang of its own accord. Emily mentally shrugged and picked it up.  
  
 “Director Piggot speaking.”  
  
“Ma’am, we have a developing situation.”  
  
“What kind of situation?”  
  
“A riot at the Doomhaus venue in the docks. Rune, Blazer, Alabaster and three dozen unpowered neo-Nazis are assaulting the place, and there’s signs of the concertgoers fighting back. Multiple 911 calls.”  
  
“Christ. That’s ABB territory. Very well, dispatch what we have. Contain the riot.”  
  
“Are you authorizing confoam for riot control, ma’am?”  
  
Piggot glared through her phone. “Yes. Get the situation under control before Lung decides to.”  
  
Why couldn’t she have a peaceful Saturday, for once?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Summer term was awful. That's my excuse for taking nearly two and a half months with this.


	9. 2.1 (Initiation)

February 22, 2011  
Brockton Bay, MA  
7:42am

[Taylor]

I hop off the 364, and start walking towards Arcadia’s main building. My first day here, and I was early. Too early, if you asked me. Going to school “away from keyboard”, as Diana loved to put it, was such a mistake.

I groaned, feeling the lack of sleep. I’d just had my first cape fight - broken one up, really - and then I spent an hour with Kat explaining to Madison the whole mess she’d been dumped into, living in Brockton Bay with powers. Plus a mini-lecture about the so-called ‘unwritten rules’ while driving Madison home, since Kat and I had forgotten to talk about it with her. Then I was stuck calming down her parents, eventually giving them the name of a tailor who could sort her out costume-wise. Finally I drove home, turned off the downstairs TV, put a blanket over my Dad and went to bed… at 1am.

I woke up early, belatedly remembering that I had to find the transfer paperwork. I ended up having to skip my session in the basement. There was a punching bag with Krieg’s face taped on it, and he was due for a couple hundred punches and kicks. Overdue, now, because instead I had to grab my backpack, throw my hoodie over my jacket, lace my boots and run all-out to the nearest bus. I’d have driven myself, but technically I wasn’t supposed to drive alone past 11pm or before 7am. The MIRIS paperwork to get that taken care of needed to be filed today, but at least I’d thought to stuff it into my backpack.

Naturally I’m not paying attention as I try to finish this energy drink, because clearly my life is a succession of bad decisions. That’s why I’m surprised when another girl stumbles into me, and we fall off the walkway onto the snow-covered grass just outside the main gate of the school in a tangle of limbs and spilled Jolt and snow.

I look at the girl… oh! I forgot she goes to Arcadia. “Hi, Diana.”

She smirks, and gets up. “Hi, yourself.” She reaches out a hand, and I take it, planting my boots firmly and pulling myself up.

After adjusting my backpack and dusting off my hoodie, I realize that I have no idea where anything is. “Um… where’s the office? I need to get the transfer stuff done.”

“Oh! I’ll show you.” She takes my hand, still doing that half-smile, half-smirk thing that gets me every time. “Come on!”

After only a couple minutes of Diana leading me by the hand, we arrive. I’m seriously impressed with this place - they actually maintain the building, for one. There’s no gang signs, no scorch marks. No cracked paint or water damage. It doesn’t even stink of stale mold and vomit. More than a few of the students are new arrivals from Winslow, it’s true, but the aura of despair that clung to Winslow isn’t here.

Are there bullies here? I don’t know. Diana says yes, but they tend to be slapped down more often.

Diana talks to the secretary, and the secretary addresses me. “Taylor Hebert?”

“That’s me.”

“Do you have your transfer paperwork?”

I nod and pull them out of my backpack, making sure to separate them from the MIRIS papers. That would be an embarrassing mix-up, outing myself to the school before I’ve even made a public debut.

She spends a few minutes looking over them, while Diana and I chit-chat. Before I know it, she takes off, mentioning something about taking care of something for the anime club. I guess it’s not code for “ABB hangout” here. The secretary nods to herself, then picks up the phone.

“Taylor Hebert’s here to see you, sir.”

A pause.

“I understand. I’ll send her in.” She motions at the door as she hangs up, passing me some forms.

I walk in, clutching the forms. They look like a course schedule and some other papers, I think.

“Hello, Taylor. Please, sit.” The principal gestured at a chair.

I sit down, passing him the papers. He looked through the small stack, pulling out a form - oh, the district transfer sheets I’d filled out - and handed the rest to me.

Before I can say anything, he speaks. “Taylor… you should know that we’re aware of your disciplinary record. Normally, we wouldn’t even consider a student with this many incidents, but apparently there are some mitigating factors, which we did consider when approving you.”

Oh. The whole “get in a fistfight with a track star and two Empire brats” thing. That’s the one that sticks out in my mind, since it was the one that made the bullying stop. It felt like every other day I was getting physical, or at very least extremely rude, with other students. Mostly Empire, but also the fucking jock brats who ran what the Empire and the ABB didn’t in the school hierarchy.

I nodded. “It was that or be bullied all the time.”

“I understand. And more than a few students spoke highly of you.”

It’s nice to be appreciated, I guess. I smile a bit at that. “Yes.”

“With that said, I don’t want to see you in my office quite as often as… as Blackwell did. Let the teachers handle it. We have a zero-tolerance policy on bullying.”

Winslow claimed to have that, too. “As long as the teachers actually handle things, I won’t get involved.”

“They will. Give them a chance, please.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good.” He smiles at this. I kinda like him - he seems to have an actual spine, for one, unlike Blackwell. “You’re dismissed, Ms. Hebert.”

I nod and get up. He hands back my class schedule, and I walk out of the room. Homeroom and first class is in… ten minutes. Room 204, English with Mrs. Fallon.

I haven’t found my locker yet. I’ll figure that shit out later. In the meantime, I pull out the map and start walking. After a flight of stairs and a little looking around, I have it.

I take a breath, and walk inside. This is going to be awkward. The teacher immediately notices me.

“Hello. Are you the transfer student?”

I nod. “I’m Taylor. Uh, Taylor Hebert.” I pass her my class schedule. Please don’t make this awkward, please don’t make this awkward…

She looks it over briefly, then passes it back. “Okay, then.” She points out a seat. “I’ll get your textbook and syllabus.”

I nod quickly and take my seat. I don’t really know anybody here, so this class feels really awkward. I get my textbook and syllabus, and look over it. Honestly, it seems like it’s the same things we were doing in the online courses, which was really easy. The bell rings after a few minutes, and class starts. The teacher introduces me, and I shyly wave at the class. This is nothing like Winslow - I don’t have to be hardcore and pretend I don’t give a shit about anything around me. So, I pull out a notebook and pen, relax, and let talk of Chaucer float into my head.

* * *

Another bell, another glance at the schedule and the map, another few minutes of trying to find my next class. That class was World History. I was looking forward to seeing how a competent teacher taught the subject after the mess Mr. Gladly so often made of it back at Winslow. As I walk into the classroom though, I feel a familiar sinking feeling in my stomach. Some rich jock was standing over a pretty girl with shortish bottle-green hair, still wearing her scarf. The way she hunched in her chair told me she didn't want any of what he was selling. So much for the teachers doing their jobs, then. I walk up to the girl.

"Hi, I just transferred in. This is World History, right?" The girl and the jock both turn to look at me, her with some relief, him with... confusion? I guess he didn't like me interrupting his "flirting", despite the fact that the girl was very obviously uninterested in him.

"Uh, yeah. It is," the girl says.

"Cool. I'm Taylor, can you tell me where we're up to so far? I don't want to be too far behind."

"We had just gotten up to--" starts the jock.

I cut him off. "So what's your name anyway?"

"Stacie," she replies. "We had just gotten to the rise of parahumanity. Vikare in particular."

"Neat!" I say. "Is this seat taken?" I ask, pointing to the chair the jock was leaning on.

She smiles. "Not at all."

I sit down, pointedly leaning back until the jock removes his fingers from my chair. “Why are you wearing a scarf?”

Stacie blinks. “Oh!” She starts taking it off. “My first class is in the portables.”

I nod at that. “They actually use those?”

“Yeah. They put them in after, you know, that big Noise outbreak. They needed more classrooms to take Winslow students in with. Hey, did you go there?”

“Mmhmm. Whatever your rumor mills said, they were probably exaggerating, but only a teensy bit.”

She looks shocked. “Oh, damn.” Something seems to click in her head. “Oh! You’re Diana’s big crush, aren’t you?”

I blush bright red. “Oh my god. Wait, you know her? Cute girl, takes no shit, a little on the short side?” Um… “Good with computers? Plays guitar?”

She brightens. “Yeah! Oh my god!”

I can feel the jock’s eyes on me. That does it - I turn around and glare at him. “Yes?”

“Uh. Hi, I’m Dean. Dean Stansfield.” He has a way of saying it that sounds like I should be impressed. Stansfield, Stansfield… where have I heard that name?

Oh, right, his prick of a father.

Maxim Stansfield. CEO of an industrial concern - they had a factory out in the Docks. Back in the early 2000s the stupid motherfucker had the audacity to try using scab labor to move freight from the docks and the trainyard. He refused the standard Dockworker’s Union contract and also refused to negotiate a reasonable one. The DWU picketed his factory, so he called up some security company to try and break the picket line. That security company had ties to the E88. Not that it helped them - the Empire were still reeling from the death of Allfather.

After a bloody riot, the dockworkers kicked their asses. We weren’t going away and we’d fucked his schedule, so he became surprisingly eager to settle. Though needless to say, he - and the E88 - have hated us ever since.

Should I be rude to him? Not really. I mean, his daddy lost. Thinking about it, I don’t really care either way. Tit for tat then. Short, to the point, feed him a conversation ender.

“Okay, whatever,” I say shortly. “We’re busy.” Maybe that was a little rude, but really, I could’ve been so much worse.

Stacie giggles at this. “No offense, Dean, but I’m from a way different league than you, anyway.”

Dean glares at me, then walks off to another table, shaking his head.

Stacie watches him walk off, then turns back towards me. “Thanks. He’s kinda shaky with his girlfriend, so he’s been hitting on cute girls to make Vicky jealous.”

I blush a little. “Oh.”

She shrugs, wobbling her hand a bit. “Cape groupies are weird.”

Oh. That ‘Vicky’. I don’t know who Dean Stansfield _really_ is - I literally met the dumbass a minute ago - but he’s got a death wish if his idea of “make Glory Girl-sempai notice me again” is “flirt badly with queer girls”. I’ve only met her once, back when I was training in the Boneyard, but Kat really doesn’t like her. They certainly rant enough about the messes “Collateral Damage Barbie” makes when she intervenes. On top of that… she’s just barely not a hobopuncher. Fuck that noise.

I’m about to say something, but then the teacher comes in. Mr. Phillips, apparently, now that I bother to look at the whiteboard.

“Okay, let me take attendance.” He reads off a dozen or so names, then comes to mine. “Taylor… Herbert?”

“That’s me. It’s ‘He-bert’, though. No ‘r’.” Hopefully I’ll only have to correct him once.

“Oh!” He makes a note. “Sorry about that. You’re the transfer student, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. See me after class, then.”

“Okay.”

He finishes taking attendance, and launches right into lecture mode. “All right. So, last week we briefly mentioned the rise of the parahuman phenomenon. In that time, you have to understand, it was one body blow after another. Carter mishandling the Iran hostage crisis, the gas shortages in 1979 that continued through 1982, and the election of Ronald Reagan. The Soviet fears about his hardline tendencies evaporated when, on March 30th, 1981, President Reagan was assassinated with a Ruger revolver by a man who claimed Jodie Foster wanted him to do it. This left Vice President Bush in charge of what historians call “a total mess”.”

“So to recap, on May 20th, 1982, Scion was first spotted by passengers on a cruise ship. They tried to communicate with him, and one passenger even touched him, curing that passenger of end-stage cancer. Scion flew off soon after, beginning the Parahuman Age. That passenger was the first superhero, Andrew Hawke, known as Vikare. Last Friday, we discussed his career, his death, and the Vikare Act. But there was, as you should all remember, a dark side to people gaining special powers.”

Mr. Phillips looks around the room, making sure we’re paying attention. “So. We all know who the first confirmed parahuman is, and who the first confirmed superhero is. But who was the first supervillain?”

Several of us raise our hands, including Stacie. Mr. Phillips calls on her. “Um, the Advisors were the first to declare it to the public back in ‘85, but I’d say the Butcher of China. She was active first.”

“Correct!” he smiled, “Most assume the Advisors that rule the so-called Republic of Val Verde were the first. The historical consensus is actually that the first supervillain, who goes by One, first started her ascent in the Chinese Communist Party in early 1983. If you’ve never heard that term before, One is infamously nicknamed the “Butcher of China” by many of the Chinese diaspora for her actions. Her coup in 1987, ousting Deng Xiaoping and the Chinese Communist Party, resulted in the destruction of the unified Chinese state and led to the rival regional states such as the Chinese Union-Imperial and the Democratic Republic of Guangzhou…”

* * *

A couple hours later, and I’m off to lunch. I’m gradually learning my way around Arcadia - it’s a lot easier to navigate than Winslow ever was. It’s weird to settle back into the routine, but the online schooling they were offering as an alternative just wasn’t as flexible as I’d hoped.

That, and I figured I’d like it better at Arcadia. Diana and Madison attend here, so I already have friends. Well, a friend and an acquaintance. Also, I’ll probably be able to dual-enroll at Massasolt next year. Blackwell’s type of malicious incompetence meant that I was never going to be eligible for that program while she was in charge of my schooling, but Arcadia probably won’t screw me out of that. Probably.

It isn’t long before I find the lunch room. I beeline straight for the vending machine - I nearly nodded off in third period, so clearly more caffeine is needed. A second can of Jolt isn’t going to cut it, so I buy some Surge too. I open the Surge can almost absentmindedly, scanning the crowd for anyone familiar. Oh, huh - there’s Stacie… and there’s Diana and Madison, and a couple girls I don’t recognize offhand, all at one table.

Naturally, I walk over there. As I approach, I can hear Diana and one of the girls I don’t recognize offhand arguing. It sounds good-natured, though.

“…I mean, you like Candle Cove. I don’t think you really get to be high and mighty about taste, Diana.”

Diana wobbles her hand. “Candle Cove is weird existential horror pretending to be an early 70s puppet show. It’s an icon of dark underground culture! There’s a reason we covered the main theme at the last show, Stel-… oh hey, Taylor!” She looks like she wants to get up and hug me, but settles for waving me to the seat next to her, which I take gratefully.

I set my can down and lean forward, looking around. There’s Stacie, who’s talking to Madison and another girl. Looking at the girl who was chatting with Diana until I arrived, it’s kinda obvious who she is. Stella Roth, another one of Winslow’s old hellraisers. We’ve spent a few detentions together. She’s great at punching Nazi brats, but she was always a bit weird around me, and I don’t know why. Stella’s wearing an Arcadia PE sweatshirt, which she’s added some steel bangles to. At least… I think those are bangles?

Stella stares at me, sizing me up. I return her stare levelly - two can play that game.

Diana decides to interject before words were had between us. “So, these are my friends! Madison you’ve met before.”

Madison waves shyly, and I nod in her general direction. “You’re friends with Stella, Diana?”

Diana grins at Stella. “She’s not so bad when you get to know her. I don’t think you’ve met Reina.”

I shake my head, smiling. “Nope. Hi.”

Reina - the girl who’d been chatting with Stacie and Madison - looks me over and blushes, mumbling something. She’s a short Japanese girl with long mostly-bleached hair and a fading tan, wearing a loud pink t-shirt under a white hoodie. A recovering Ganguro girl, then.

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

She speaks up a little louder. “ _Mou tachi hitori_?”

Oh. No wonder she’s embarrassed. “Uh, yeah.”

She looks a little more confident. “Stella’s a little scary, but… you seem alright. Wait, you knew what I said?”

I nod at that. “I know some Japanese, but I’m really rusty. I haven’t spoken it since I was ten, eleven?”

“Oh!” Reina’s about to go on, but she notices Diana digging through her backpack. “What are you looking for, Diana-chan?”

“Um… no, that’s the tape I was going to give her… ah, there it is!” Diana fishes out a tape and… my SDAT player!

“You got it working again?” I ask.

She nods. “I just needed to install a new set of heads, and replace one of the drive motors. The old heads were pretty trashed and the motor was binding.”

I reach into my own backpack, finding the can of Jolt and my headphones easily enough. “Mind if I…?”

Diana hands it over, grinning. “No, go ahead. It’s fully charged.” She passes a tape to me, too. “I also got ahold of this when we were running down parts for the Stagea. It’s a live tape from the DMC reunion tour a few months ago.”

“Sweet.” I press play, briefly, listening for the… yep, crowd noise, the opening of Satsugai. I decide to turn it off for the moment - I want to appreciate this fully, not in a crowded lunchroom, with students screaming at each other.

Wait, screaming students? I glance behind me and groan. A boy and a girl are screaming at each other - from here, I can’t tell what about. Abruptly, I feel a strange absence, my Symphogear feeling a little warmer than usual. I turn back around in time to look at my friends, who are a little bit freaked out. Even Stella is white-knuckled, her spork having obviously broken in her hand.

I’m considering activating my ‘gear, but before I can, the feeling goes away. Glancing back at the arguing couple, it looks like a teacher is talking to them. One of their tablemates, a girl in a trenchcoat, gets up, tells off the other girl, takes her backpack and tray, and starts walking away. I turn back to my soda. Stella goes back to eating, and if I'm not imagining things, her spork is fixed. That’s weird, but I figure it’s not my place to ask.

“What just happened?” I ask quietly.

“Vicky,” Diana and a voice behind me say at the same time. Diana starts at that. The girl behind us walks around to Stella’s side of the table and quietly asks her something.

“Suit yourself, spookybutt,” Stella says, budging over a bit so the new girl can sit down.

Oh, the new girl is Amelia Pelham. That's unexpected.

The whole table sits in an awkward silence for a few minutes. I glance at Diana, wondering if this is a normal occurrence. Her half-panicked look tells me it's not. Still, why is she acting like this? It's not like the Others haven't dealt with New Wave before. The trick is to not let Glory Girl's aura catch you off-guard.

Wait... Glory Girl's aura... could that be why my Symphogear was acting strangely?

"So, your cousin finally do something stupid enough to make you leave?" Stella asks Amelia, breaking the silence before it can smother anyone to death.

"Yes and no," says Amelia, "It's... it's complicated."

"Let me guess," says Stella, "Her boyfriend was doing something very much like flirting with a girl in his World History class, only for a different girl to come along and shut him down?"

"Yeah, and he doesn't seem to understand why Vicky might not like that kind of behavior, even if--" Amelia stops talking and looks around the table, seeming to see the rest of us for the first time. "Even if he has a good reason for it. Still, it made me realize a few things about her, and about myself."

"Anything you'd like to share?"

"Not here, not now." She shakes her head. "How'd you know all that anyway?"

"Just a few minutes ago I was listening to Stacie here tell Diana how Dean Stansfield wouldn't leave her alone before one of her classes, only for Diana's... friend to come along and save her. It was very gallant of Taylor here to do that, don't you think?" Stella’s smirking at me.

I cough, embarrassed. “Um. Yeah. Something about him annoyed me.”

"Hard to imagine what it could possibly be. He's so straight-edged," says Diana with a wink. "I can't think of anything that would make you not like the great Dean Stansfield."

"Yeah, laugh it up," I say. "If I had known it would make Glory Girl fear-wave the entire cafeteria I--" I look at Stacie. "Frankly, I probably would've still done it. Some people need to learn to take a hint."

"Yup," says Stacie. "There are lots of people who can't see things right in front of them."

"So," says Diana, quickly. "I know how your World History class went, but tell me about the rest of your day. How many other fair maidens have you saved?"

I laugh, and spend the rest of lunch period telling my best friend about my day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So first off, a huge shoutout to TheWonko. They helped me push this chapter over the finish line, even helping write a good chunk of the fic.
> 
> Things have been really rough for me, lately. School didn't go too well, and I'm hoping to win my tuition appeal so I can go back. I've been having a hard time finding the inspiration to write with, which helps explain why I took so damn long. I really was hoping it wouldn't take ten weeks... it ended up taking at least three months in the end. (Also, Warframe. x_x)
> 
> Oh, and the question Reina asks Taylor means "another tachi?". Tachi (and neko, the counterpart) is Japanese lesbian slang; you see it more often in more 'grounded'/'real' yuri works. Grossly oversimplified, she's asking if Taylor is butch (she is).


	10. 2.2 (Initiation)

February 25, 2011

Brockton Bay, MA

11:49am

The “Sad Girls Table”, as Stacie jokingly called it, was… kinda nice, actually. For an hour, I could relax, let my hair down (so to speak), talk to other girls about my life, hear about theirs. That’s something I really didn’t miss about Winslow.

"Taylor-chan?" asks Reina as I sit down. "Was that your Stagea in the parking lot?"

“Yeah, it is,” I nod. “And you know you can just call me Taylor, right? You don’t have to stand on ceremony with us or anything, Reina.”

Reina blushes a little. “I… I know, Taylor. It’s not easy to break that habit. You’re allowed to drive?”

I lean back a little, smiling. “Yep, I got the last restriction on my license lifted yesterday; it's pretty great. It's not usually the case though, normally you have to be sixteen to drive on your own…”

"Isn't it eighteen in Japan?” asks Stacie from across the table.

Reina nods at that. “And that’s just to get your provisional permit. It’s not full driving privileges. I lived in Shinjuku, so all I could have was a scooter. It’s not like the countryside where they are a bit more lenient.” She sighs, idly twirling the ends of her hair with her fingers. “I wish I could get a car.”

Diana leans in, smirking. “Ask Taylor to take you for a ride sometime! That’s what I’d do.”

“I haven’t even broken it in yet… sure, what the hell… Reina, would you like me to demonstrate my car sometime?” I blush a little. God, I’m such a dork when it counts.

Reina beams. “I’d… yeah. I’d like that!”

“Do you say that to all the girls, Taylor?” Stacie’s chuckling at her enthusiasm.

I affect a shrug, some good old fashioned nonchalance. “Just the cute ones.”

Diana and… Madison, for some reason, are both blushing furiously, now. Goddammit. I glance up, seeing Stella and Amelia chatting as they walk over.

I didn't catch what Amelia asked her, but it must've been big, because Stella is still ranting as she sits down. “…Dean is not my therapist. Dean is not remotely qualified to be a therapist, let alone mine. I have a therapist at the BBQ and they’re really awesome and kinda cute, and I attend weekly sessions with them. They’re great, and they’re ex-PRT. Like, they totally get it. Dean is the opposite of that in almost every conceivable way. So yeah, I wish he’d stop trying to be in therapist mode all the fucking time. It's fucking exhausting!”

Amelia nods at that. “I'm exhausted and all I did was listen to that.”

Madison asks the obvious question. “Wait, that Dean? The one that made an ass of himself in front of Stacie and Taylor?”

Stella groans. “Yeah, that one.”

I make a face, which Stella snorts at. “Do you hang out with him or something?”

“Not really? It’s work bullshit. He’s a co-worker of mine. He’s taken it upon himself to be the shift therapist. Or shift wet blanket, if you ask me.” Stella frowns. “I know I’m not the sunniest girl out there, but I wish he’d stop trying to get me to cheer up all the time. I have feelings too, even if he can't see that sometimes.”

I lean forward. "Where _do_ you work, Stella?"

Stella genuinely looks flustered. "Um, uh… _nowhereyouveheardof_ …" She suddenly brightens and looks pointedly at Diana. "Hey, are you two still doing that concert thing, Diana?"

Diana smiles at that, already reaching into her backpack. "Oh, yeah! We totally are. I've got tickets. We're playing at Doomhaus, back to back with some death-metal band."

I shrug. “Brockton Metal City. They're a DMC cover band, but they don't quite have the theatrics down.” I grimace, remembering their last show. “And last time they played, they couldn't pronounce Japanese worth a shit. Especially when they sing.”

Stella snorts. “They can't be that bad.”

Reina shakes her head. “My cousin is the drummer, and they practice at my house, in the garage below my room. They are that bad. They sound worse than... how do you say... a 12-year-old trying to sound tough.”

Diana leans forward. “They don't even have a President!”

I shrug. “That's actually one point in their favor. If you can’t be original, at least be entertaining. They don't really get why DMC was so awesome, but it doesn't stop them from trying. I think they’ll be great once they get it.”

Diana, meanwhile, passes tickets to Madison, Stella, Reina and Stacie. “Amelia? You want a ticket?”

Amelia looks conflicted for a bit, glancing at Stella sheepishly. “Um… I'm supposed to go on this… double date thing. With Vicky and her stupid boyfriend. I'm not sure I want to stand her up, but…”

Stella grins at her. “This’ll be way more fun. And frankly I need to hang out more. It’s an all-ages show, and a pretty cool venue. We can go out to eat later, if you like.”

Amelia processes what Stella’s saying, and blushes bright red. “Um… in that case, uh… Sure!”

Reina and Madison are about to high-five each other, but Stella glares at the two. They settle for giggling together. Diana smirks at them, and Reina looks a little baffled and amused at the same time.

We all chat for a few minutes longer, and then the bell rings.

As we head to the second floor, Diana stops me. She looks really, really nervous. “Hey, so my moms are working really late. You want to sleep over tonight, so we can rehearse early? You’ve never been to my place before, and I know it's really presumptuous of me, but…”

…Well, Dad’s out of town for tonight. Dockworkers regional meeting in Boston, I think he said. “Sure. Should I bring food?”

She giggles, her nervousness banished. “Well, if you want to, I'd kill for some pizza.”

I smile. “Sure. Marcire’s? They've got a deal going.”

Diana nods, then glances at her phone and curses. “Sorry, gotta go!” She practically darts up the stairs. I frown and check my own… oh fuck!

—*—

A few hours later, the final bell rings, and I head out of Arcadia - or try to. I'm almost out of the main hallway, after school, when Madison grabs my arm and asks me to talk to her in private about… stuff. After a couple moments of trying to subtly ask her if it's _cape stuff_ and imply that maybe my car would be better for sensitive talks, I give up and let her steer me into an empty classroom.

I decide to speak up first. “Okay, what’s up, and why couldn't we talk about it in my car?”

Madison nervously kneads her hands. “Mom and Dad got a call from the PRT. They want to talk to me about everything I've been doing. I met the Wards and it went badly, and then I blew up that parking lot chasing after Circus, and now… oh god, I'm in so much trouble. So. Much. The Director wants to personally debrief me! Tomorrow! That can't be good!” She makes a strangled, panicky noise.

That's really, really, not good. Let's keep the exploding girl calm here. “Okay?”

"I can't stand it, Taylor, I'm too nervous! I'm bouncing off the walls. Literally, last night. Bouncing." I can tell; Madison is practically squirming with energy.

I shrug, nonchalantly. "It's just the PRT, you learn to deal with them."

“You don’t understand!” Madison’s hissing at me, now. "They could make or break my entire future. And I hit one of their Wards!"

Okay, that’s worrying, but not too much. "Was it Shadow Stalker? She probably deserved it."

“No, I… how’d you know?” She looks at me, confused. Some of her nervousness seems to dissipate.

I chuckle darkly. “Miss Edgelord has a bit of a rep. You’re shocked, I can tell.”

Madison leans against the wall, grumbling. “It’s unspoken rules… stuff. I can’t talk about it too much.”

I sit on one of the nearby tables, shrugging off my backpack. “And that's why I'd prefer to talk in the car. Short of cape shit, my car has no listening devices. Who knows, at this place?”

Madison’s sullen, as she replies. “It's neutral territory.”

I shake my head. “Not really. It's a school, and it's an open secret that practically all the Wards go here, on top of New Wave and some Empire 88 prospective cape they haven't run down yet. Next time you get a chance, _please_ ask Kat to give you some basic tradecraft lessons. I'm still amateur hour at that shit and I know better than to talk here for anything really important.”

Madison's face falls. “Should we, uh…”

“Not really; you already blurted out the sensitive stuff.” I sigh, toying with the end of my braid. “Look, if you were really in deep shit, you wouldn't get a polite phone call. You'd get the jackboot and confoam treatment, and they'd ask their questions in a remote cell.”

Madison shudders. “So it won't be that bad?”

I shake my head. “Director Piggot isn't the nicest ever, but she's pretty reasonable. Harsh when you screw up, but reasonable.”

She sighs. “If you say so.”

I get up and join her on the wall, putting my arm around her. She smiles and leans a little closer. “You’ll be fine. I’ve had to do it before - we got called on the carpet once, when Shadow Stalker started sniffing around the warehouse.”

“How’d that go?”

“Well…”

 

[Five Months Ago]

_I'd never seen Rachel this pissed. "Hey! You! Come out here, you fucking Batman reject! Why'd you kick my cat?!"_

_The flickering form dropped down. "It wouldn't stop following me." She leveled a compact crossbow at us, as Rachel's powers continued enhancing her pack. "Now back off, asshole, and I'll forget this happened."_

_I glanced at Kat, keeping my wrench ready. I wasn't sure it'd do me any good, but it was better than nothing._

_Kat looked angry. "This isn't your patrol route, kid. Buzz off."_

_"Don't call me that!"_

_Instead of replying, Kat put their shotgun away, pulling out a taser instead. "I said buzz off. I know you're still in the shit with the cape cops. I'm willing to let this go if you are, but if not..." They shrugged disdainfully. "I'm sure your handler will tell you to mind your business around my workshop. We’re rogues. We’re not bothering anybody. And the cats are following you because they’re patrolling."_

_The vigilante paused, then pressed the side of her neck with her free hand. “Triumph, I’m busy! What? No, I’m still on my route. Okay, okay. Look, there was a cat following me. Like, stalking me. Yeah, one of Queen’s cats. No, but it was suspicious. What? Fine. Shit. Yeah, the mechanic one was waving a gun at me, but she put it away. Didn’t want to shoot a hero, I guess. Fine, ‘they’ put it away. Alright already. I’ll link up with the kid.” She looks at us. “You’re free to go, don’t cause trouble, blah blah blah.”_

_Kat lowered their taser, wary, while the local cats parted to let her out. It isn’t until she flew away with her phasing trick that we relaxed and headed back to the warehouse._

—*—

“So yeah. We’ve run into her before.”

“And how’d that debrief go?”

“She got her personal pay docked, no patrols for a month. She broke the rules, so…”

Madison frowns. “That’s good. I guess. So…”

I smile and jiggle her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Trust me. Yeah, you screwed up. Shit happens, and they can’t exactly afford to turn away heroes. The same thing that protected Shadow Stalker will protect you.”

Madison looks a bit happier, at least. “Okay… okay. That helps. Thanks, Taylor!” She hugs me and runs out the door. I chuckle a bit, and head for my car. I need to go home first, get some clothes and my sequencer disks, and hit Marcire’s for some pizza before I head over to Diana’s.

* * *

 

Two hours later, with my dad placated, an overnight bag in the back, and a hot pizza in the front, my GPS app dings. Yep, this is Diana’s house. As much as we hang out together at the warehouse, I don’t think I’ve been to her place more than a few times, and even then only to pick her up or drop her off. I don’t think I’ve ever been inside. Getting out, I grab my backpack from the rear hatch, then close it and go for the pizza. I’m almost to the door when it opens, revealing Diana, this time in sweatpants, socks and a tank top.

Diana beams at me, clearly excited. “Taylor! I wasn't sure you'd actually come by!”

“Yep. Just as I promised.” I grin at her, motioning with the box. “A little help?”

She giggles, taking the pizza, then gestures me inside as she walks over to the kitchen to set them down. “Hm… half supreme meat-lovers... for Taylor, I guess, and… half pineapple, ham and jalapeño? For me? Wow. How’d you guess?”

I put the rest of the food down, selecting a can of root beer. “Easy. You only ask for it every time Kat orders pizza.”

She nods. “Still. I know you think it's gross…”

I shrug, wobbling my hand. “Weird, not gross. I spent a year in Japan as a little kid. After that, well… nothing's all that strange anymore, food-wise? I just don't like it.”

“Oh. Figures.” She brightens somewhat. “I've got something to take care of upstairs.”

I smile, making a shooing motion with my free hand. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

Diana shrugs, then runs up the stairs. Meanwhile, I decide to take a look around. Her living room looks more or less like I’d expect - an old Hi-Vision plasma screen in one corner with speakers, complete with converter, a cable box and some game consoles and random media players. There’s also a comfortable and worn-looking brown suede couch, some wooden thrift-store coffee table with several controllers, DVDs, and an old W-Max tape, and a blanket and a lumpy blue jacket with hi-vis stripes draped over a battered recliner. A semi-hidden security camera, more speakers and a couple of bookshelves round out the room. There’s some pictures mounted on one of the walls, and I take a look at them. Yep, there’s Diana’s moms, and a few pictures of Diana herself. A couple are her as a baby and a toddler, and there’s a few more that look more recent, like from her tween years. There’s quite a few of those, but none in between. Those wedding pictures look really cute, though.

In the background, I hear a muffled thump from upstairs, and some cursing. I wander over to the stairs, and yell up. “You okay?”

More cursing, and some stuff rattling around. Finally, I hear a door opening, and seconds later, Diana’s head pops out from behind the divider. “Yeah! I, uh, stuck myself wrong.”

“Stuck yourself?”

“Yeah, I have to stick myself every week for my meds. Normally my mom does it for me, but you don’t see her around tonight, do you?” She sighs. “Mind if I finish up? I’m okay, I just, you know. Fucked it up. Held my breath.”

I nod dumbly. “Sure. Sure.”

She sheepishly tosses off a thanks and heads back into the bathroom. I end up heading back to the living room, where I clear some space for the pizza box, then grab some plates from the kitchen. Upstairs, I can hear her bustling about - first in what I think is the bathroom, then her room. Soon enough, she heads down, a set of DVD cases in her hand. They’re obvious bootlegs, but Diana doesn’t seem to care. She puts them on the table, grabbing a slice of pizza and plating it.

“What are those?” I ask, pointing to the DVDs.

Diana takes a bite of her pizza slice and smiles. “So, I thought we’d watch a magical girl show.”

“Uh… sure. I haven’t watched one in a really long time.” I frown, trying to remember. Some show with two girls that had to hold hands to transform, back in 2006. The name slips my mind. Futuriwa something Heart? I don’t remember. I do remember liking it, though.

Diana finishes off the slice while I was lost in thought. “That’s okay. This one should be pretty easy to follow. We’re not going to watch the entire thing - there’s forty-nine episodes - but we should be able to finish the first cour? The… first twelve or so episodes. If you’d like, we can pick it up later sometime.”

I nod, grab my own slice and settle in, as Diana gets up and puts the first DVD into the player.

—*—

 _“…Just because I was… trying to help you change…”_ Oh my god, Erika looks so dejected, even after she ran off Tsubomi.

_“That was your fault, Erika.”_

_“Momo…”_

_“You speak before you think. That’s a bad habit, you know?”_

Diana titters at me, and I stifle a giggle.

_Erika rounds on her, frustrated. “It has nothing to do with you,” she grumbles. “Just leave me alone!”_

_“You sure aren’t honest with yourself,” Momo replies, smugly._

Diana smirks. “That’s so a ‘you’ thing, though, Taylor.”

I grumble good-naturedly under my breath. “It’s true, but you shouldn’t say it.”

—*—

_Tsubomi exclaims, glancing down frantically at her dress,“W-what the heck is this costume?”_

I couldn’t help it; we both laughed, though I was a bit more redfaced.

_The fairy, at least, is thrilled. “Amazing! You really are a PreCure!”_

The episode ends soon after, Tsubomi having named herself Cure Blossom. As the credits roll, Diana smiles at me, a question on her face. “Was it like that for you, Taylor?”

I shrug, waving my hand at the screen. “Nope, no animal mascot. It was a little bit of a letdown, honestly. And I carried myself with a little more dignity than that.”

Diana smirks. “Just a little?”

“Just a little,” I reply firmly. “I was more freaked out than I let on, though.”

 

—*—

I wave at the screen smugly. “I'm calling it right now. Every girl’s gay for Itsuki.”

Diana just sputters. “It's episode six! How'd you figure that one out?!”

“Oh come on, it's obvious!”

“I… how!?” Diana’s surprised, but oddly pleased.

—*—

I frown. I could’ve sworn I’d watched this before.

“So when are the white and black Cures showing up?” I ask, casually.

Diana snorts root beer up her nose. After frantically pausing the episode and cleaning herself up, she responds, coughing. “Wrong series.” She blows her nose. “That’s ‘Futari wa Pretty Cure’. This is a later one, Heartcatch. If I'd known… yeah, we’d have watched that instead. When did you watch it?”

“When I was ten? Aunt Ryouko had the DVDs, so I binged them when I wasn't doing schoolwork. So now you know, I guess.”

She giggles. “So that's why Reina says you sound like a bratty pre-teen when you talk to her in Japanese.”

I facepalm. “Now you know my dark secret. I learned Japanese from a magical girl anime for pre-teens and Osakan dockworkers.”

Diana just smirks at me, nodding.

—*—

We lay back, cuddling a bit, a little tired and definitely stuffed. After all, between the two of us we demolished an entire pizza. The ending of episode 12 is still playing on her TV.

Diana’s nestled up to me on the couch, obviously content. “So that's Heartcatch Pretty Cure. What do you think so far, Taylor?”

I smile. “It's pretty good, yeah. I'm feeling really… nostalgic, though.”

Diana nods. “Sorry. Should've figured mom stuff would, you know… come up.”

I shrug. “It's alright. It's a good memory. God knows I don't have a lot of those.” After all, watching your mom’s, well, spirit die, like Mari’s mom in Evangelion? Yeah, that proved rather scarring for twelve-year-old me.

She yawns and gets up. “Well. It's about my bedtime. It's like, eleven.”

I groan. “Ah, shit, and we need to get to the warehouse by nine.”

“Yep.” She lifts my overnight bag over her shoulder, heading up the stairs. Halfway up, she stops. “Taylor! You coming?”

I mentally shake myself, then walk up the stairs behind Diana. She walks into one of the rooms, and I hear a thump. Following her, I look inside, and…

Damn. The first thing I notice is how clean it is. It's not like my room’s dirty or anything, but the only sign that it might be inhabited by somebody is the neat array of Jolt battery cans next to one of her monitors, and a pocky packet sitting next . All her furniture’s painted in pastels, with a patterned rug, a rainbow flag, a Sailor Moon poster and a Vogelchevalier wall scroll tying it together. She's got several computers and three monitors around her desk-workbench thing, which have stuffed animals on top. The big ‘Intergraph’ monitor has a half-dozen of them by itself. There’s a good bit of fan noise, and I can see her favorite guitar on its stand near the closet. There's also some bookshelves, half filled with books and half with games, DVDs and beta tapes. There's what looks like an audio rack, but it's filled with computer stuff with lots of blinking lights. Finally there’s a fairly large bed, decorated in pastels and absolutely covered in pillows.

Diana turns around, smiling. “So! This is my room. Sorry I couldn’t get the air bed out. It’s, uh… it’s got a hole in it.”

“So where do I sleep?” I ask.

Diana looks down, embarrassed, hand on head. “Well… yeah, I didn’t think this through. I can sleep on the floor, or something.”

I shrug. “It’s okay, we’ll share the bed, there’s enough room.” After Diana finishes sputtering, we get ready for bed. I get under the covers, then she turns out the light and gets in herself.

A few minutes later, Diana turns to me. “Taylor?”

“Yeah?”

She sounds nervous. “Are you… still with Charlotte?”

I somehow keep my composure. I try to not think about it. “No… she… found somebody else. It… wasn’t going to work out. She lives in Brooklyn, I live here. We’re not… long-distance relationship people.” I sigh heavily. I mean… she can’t come back. The Empire’s in the terror business, after all, and their hate week scared away her family.

It’s not fair. She gave me hope after my mom went nuts and Emma disappeared. She gave me friends, my love of synths, my first kiss, my first… everything, really. I wouldn’t be half the girl I was without her. Then those bonehead pigfuckers go and riot and ruin everything for us. They did that to a lot of people, yeah. I can’t help but take it personally, though.

“So you’re… single?”

“I… I mean, technically, I guess? But I don’t know if a relationship with anyone is in the cards right now.” Truth is, I haven’t thought about it, much. I have some crushes on other girls, but… I don’t know. Would it work out?

“Oh.” She sounds a little disappointed, as she turns over, her back facing me. “…good night, Taylor.”

“G’night.” I yawn.

As I close my eyes, Diana starts mumbling. I only catch the last bit of it as sleep overcomes her. “…should I tell her?”

I sigh, and let sleep take me. Whatever she wants to tell me… it can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I passed my finals for Winter, and I'm about to start the next term. Here's hoping I get the chance to do another chapter before April ends.
> 
> Some of you have been wanting Diana to be a bit more fleshed out... well, here's your wish.
> 
> Thanks to TheWonko for betaing this, and M.Q. for helping me workshop Diana's background.


End file.
